Tuesday, May 7, 2013

The Most Perfect Bed By Whitney Osburn

The Most Perfect Bed By Whitney Osburn

On this most perfect big, big, comfy bed,
With these most perfect large fluffy pillows,
Are these most perfect small little pillows,
And the most perfect big white comforter,
And the most perfect bed is so, so soft.

The most perfect bed is perfectly made.
The sheets snug tight and the pillows lined up.
And the most perfect bed looks so fluffy,
Like you could jump in the middle and sink.
Just like people do in the movie scenes.

The most perfect bed could be slept on any
Time and even for taking long naps on.
The bed you never want to get out of.
The kind that makes you want to sleep tons more,
That kind of bed that never makes you sore,
It makes you want to sleep just that much more.

The kind of bed that everyone likes,
To just stand there and look at all day long,
The kind of bed that smells so fresh and clean,
You don’t even want to tough it just look.
The bed that is so perfect in so many ways.

The most perfect bed would be great and big,
It would feel like a cloud when you jump in,
It would be covered in all white pillows,
It would look like a bed from a magazine,
Nothing wrong in any way, spotless.

The most perfect bed would be so perfect,
Not one thing wrong with any part of it.
You could snuggle up in all the blankets,
A good night’s rest would be tremendous.
The most perfect bed would be so perfect.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This Most Perfect Hill
BY LISA JARNOT

On this most perfect hill
with these most perfect dogs
are these most perfect people
and this most perfect fog
In this most perfect fog
that is the middle of the sea
inside the perfect middle of
the things inside that swing

In this most perfect rhyme
that takes up what it sees,
with perfect shelter from the
rain as perfect as can be,

In this most perfect day
at the apex of the sun
runs this most perfect
frog song that is roiling
from the mud

In these most perfect habits
of the waving of the trees,
through this imperfect language
rides a perfect brilliancy.

No comments:

Post a Comment