An ode to my bed


You are unfairly comfortable.

You beckon me to your embrace

And ensnuggen me within your folds,

For seven, eight, maybe even nine hours.

When morning comes, you hold me tight.

“Don’t leave,” you whisper;

Staying in bed feels right.

What’s work?




Nothing.  They are nothing compared to the warmth you offer on a cold winter day.

Faithfully soft,

the promise of dreams,

the gift of rest.

Life must be lived

Purposes filled

The day calls for action, and I will battle.

But when the day is done,

And the battle won,

Don’t worry, I’ll come back to you.


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