Breakfast for a bed

Today I made breakfast for my bed.

I didn’t make coffee or toast or bread.

That would be silly as beds don’t eat,

The same stuff we do (but that’d be neat).

I got a clean sock, fresh from the dryer,

Crisp and clean, woven by a friar.

Beds love socks to nibble and chew,

At least mine does, I’ve lost quite a few.

I sprinkled some coins on top as a topping,

If it smells coins, there simply is no stopping.

An old key ring with some rusted keys,

The rust on them like our finest cheese.

I found a phone, an ancient Nokia,

For a bed, a delicacy very dear.

A cherry red postcard as a cherry on top,

I hopped to the bedroom with a hoppety hop.

It ate its meal, its sheets wildly flapping,

And, afterwards it did some napping.

My bed on a nap, I then did the dishes,

And knew it’d dream of all the best wishes.

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