Virginia Cook
My room is soft and dark.
And this is ideal
for the bug who creeps in.
He loves the thick shag that
cushions cautious steps.
Outside this place,
stars shed light on the world.
He scurries in the shelter
of dark. But I sleep
on dust, sharp
enough to cut his legs, to
stop him trying to crawl
across my body.
Poetry arrangement by Virginia Cook
Very thought provoking.
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