He dreams of a bed of soft feathers and down
The ultimate comfort there is to be found.
Want burgers and fries when I come home from town?
Shall we get the nice beagle we saw at the pound?
You're a vision, Sweetheart, in your pretty prom gown.
This place is all backwards, it's all turned around.
Sleeping is fitful, disturbed and unsound,
For the blanket less form on the cold hard ground.
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Comments about this poem (Blanket Less by Connie Yost )
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