Sonny Rainshine


Beds - Poem by Sonny Rainshine

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.


Comments about Beds by Sonny Rainshine

  • (7/11/2006 2:00:00 AM)


    That's quite interesting..but me 2 loves my bed! !

    Preets
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  • (5/5/2006 9:44:00 AM)


    Good point well made, but oh man do I love my bed. (Report) Reply

  • (4/9/2006 7:16:00 AM)


    Lets bed down for the night and watch the stars on this site, stars like you.love Duncan (Report) Reply

  • Lizzy Tomlinson (3/26/2006 6:32:00 AM)


    A new perspective on beds. Have you read my 'From my Bed'. Lizzy. (Report) Reply

Read all 4 comments »



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Poem Submitted: Sunday, March 26, 2006



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