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.