Connie Yost (5/27/38 / Reed City, Michigan)
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.
Comments about this poem (Blanket Less by Connie Yost )
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