A Top Sheet
Every room in Scotland,
Whether inn or a hotel,
Had a comforter upon the bed
To serve most people well.
It was always white and fluffy,
Meant for coziness, I guess,
And at first, when snuggled under it,
I liked it, I confess.
But I always woke up feeling
Way too warm and yanked it free.
Then I had no means of cover,
Which just doesn’t work for me.
So each night I fought that blanket,
Sometimes off and sometimes on,
Thinking if I’d had a top sheet,
All those problems would be gone.
Now I’m sleeping in my own bed,
Comfy underneath the sheet
And if I’m a little warm, I simply
Kick it off my feet.
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