The rest in it is final
At least a bed it is
The weight all on the spinal
No sit or stand to come from this
The slumber in it is eternal
No waking hours in it
A bed so dark internal
For lights are far from it
The position in it is procedural
No stretch or cuddle in it
A bed that spells withdrawal
Your feelings are boxed in it
The rest in it not fatal
For rest in peace they say
The comfort in it is formal
Though there’s nothing you can say
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem