Trundle

Tundle

Trundle, trundle, trundle bed,
I need some place to rest my head,
I have this cold, an awful bug,
I’d even lie on a bear rug.

My wife is sick; with crackle cough,
I sneeze and sneeze, my head flies off,
We love to snuggle close and kiss,
I think this is one night we’ll miss.

I don’t want hers; she doesn’t mine,
Across the living room; a line,
A chasm, gorge so steep with rocks,
This man of steel, it sneers; it mocks.

Then, so tonight, I’ll bid adieu,
I’m back to simply courting you,
A prayer for health; a flowered vase,
Next morn I’ll see your loving face.

Peter Lowell Paulson
December 28, 2012