The Fault Of The Fancy Pillow

There was no supermarket pillow for my husband today,

Only on the Rolls Royce of pillows his head would lay,

And he carried it home this pillow with pride,

And placed it in the bed lovingly on his side,

I was tired and retired eleven o’ clock or so,

And I couldn’t resist trying out his pillow, nobody would know,

But the problem I hadn’t envisioned was that I would fall asleep,

And because it was the best of pillows, that sleep would be deep,

Several hours later, hubbie Dave came to bed,

And the space for his head on his pillow was filled with my head instead,

He hummed and he hawed, as to what should be done,

And decided to move my dead weight, which felt like a tonne,

From the depths of a dream I went tumbling for the damn pillows sake,

Both literally and physically, my head falling awake,

And when my hubbie apologetically tried to explain,

I pointed at the pillow, the message was plain,

It would either have to go back to the shop or another one bought,

As I couldn’t be relied on to control what my slumbering head sought.

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