LAST NIGHT AT THE MUSEUM 2

Ah, last night at the museum again. It’s been alright, this, house-sitting. I feel like I’ve suddenly got a bit of poetry mojo back. Maybe being on your own has flip-sides.

So, I’ve tidied up and I’m pretty much ready to go home. The guinea pigs are happy… I hope… and the plants are verdant and vibrant, ready for their real family to come home tomorrow and bring a little life and a little noise back into this quiet world. I get the feeling plants like that.

Anyway, this poem is all about being asleep.  

THE GIRL OF MY DREAMS

The girl of my dreams is lovely
She’s funny and clever and deep
But I don’t think that she’ll ever love me
Cos to her I’m just always asleep

Her eyes are a pool of distraction
Her gaze is a moment divine
But my eyelids are shut through the action
And I don’t think she’s ever seen mine

Her hair is like whispering willow
Cascading on waters of grace
But I’m on a dribbly pillow
And my hair is all over my face

Her laugh is as pure as the morning
Her smile is as warm as the day
But to her I’m a simpleton snoring
And snoozing the summer away

The girl of my dreams is lovely
But mornings I wake up and weep
For I don’t think that she’ll ever love me

Cos to her I’m just always asleep