Oh how I yearn for your embrace
Inside that holy, sacred place
I want the warmth and blissful peace
When striving, then, at last shall cease
You beckon me, and I, Oh my!
Oh wretched worker, simple guy
Who wishes but with you to rest
But Thursday next is due this test
So clean and fresh (with sheets just washed)
(The only thing that rhymes is “squashed”)
Oh Bed, I will be there so soon,
As just I was last afternoon.
But, Bed, this poem is not, I think,
Complete, though it is on the brink.
I hope my thoughts have been made known
And love for you, Oh Bed, my own.
Our bond of friendship, quite robust
Though never stated or discussed
Has helped through many trials fierce
Though darkest doubts my soul would pierce
But yet you comfort and abide
And e’en through nights when I have cried
Your pillow soft and mattress firm
Your love for me doth still affirm
And so this poem to you I write
A thank you note for every night
That covers warm have held me through
the night, another sun to view.
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