Scruffy is an unmade bed,
But it’s so inviting on a cold morning.
It’s nostalgic- takes me back
To being told of heart-warming
Tales from the past –
From before I even existed,
When the old were once young,
And as a child, I insisted
On voices, impressions,
As you proceeded with the saga.
I shared in your laughter,
And envisioned the drama.
Often bringing a pillow,
To cushion my head,
As I prepared for more stories
On the vast double bed.
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