In Memorium

This mattress once was new and bright,

But now, it’s not so great.

For under sheets of pristine white

The broken springs await.

And though the bedding’s crisp and new

When I lay me down to sleep,

The mattress hidden from my view

Should be on a garbage heap.

It’s stained and tattered, bruised and torn,

Its springs are snapped and broken.

And I suffer there till dewey morn.

(Harsh words are often spoken!)

With back in spasm, to sleep I cling,

My dreams are few . . . and hazy,

Some tears are shed, my hands - I wring.

I’m slowly going crazy.

Tonight, I’ll drink raspberry wine

A quite indulgent habit,

Then into my blankets, serpentine,

I’ll curl up like a rabbit.

'Cause, yes, the time has come, I’m tired

Of sleeping on a cactus.

I’ll, with the morn, at last retire

My insult of a mattress.