A poem from my distant past.
From Roof to Bed
Once abed, in deepest slumber,
Peaceful and without encumber,
I awoke to a rude invite,
The sounds of piercing rain at night.
I turned away, in half awake,
From a dream now half opaque,
Listening to the strident sound,
Raging echoes off the ground.
The air heavy, moist and full
Smelt to me, of wet lambs wool.
But I ignored this rank and bore
Closed my eyes and slept once more.
Rain had leaked from roof to bed
And wet warmed, my woolen spread.
And though I lay in candor arm,
My sleep had won a brand new charm.
When the sun did finally show,
I was smiling, wet head to toe.
For woolens wet comfort it seems,
Stimulates the wildest dreams.
I cannot tell you the ethereal scene
But it ended in a physical mean.