Virginia Cook

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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