So much is about beds.
My father’s sickbed
became his deathbed.
When I had my appendix out,
I heard the nurse’s new name for me:
Bed Number Two.
My roommate, Bed Number One,
complained unceasingly about
his assigned bed and wanted mine.
Until I was seven
I wet my bed. My brother said
I did in on purpose.
Even when we fall in love,
what do we do?
We go to bed.
My mother said:
You made your bed,
now lie in it.
Then she said:
Life is no bed
of roses, ole pal.
Beds, then,
are nothing but trouble.
When it gets warm
maybe I’ll sleep on the grass.
Lets bed down for the night and watch the stars on this site, stars like you.love Duncan
A new perspective on beds. Have you read my 'From my Bed'. Lizzy.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
That's quite interesting..but me 2 loves my bed! ! Preets