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Ken Collins’ Web Site

www.kencollins.com

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The Pixie

Before I slumber, ere I sleep
I hear a tiny creature weep
A mournful cry, a heartfelt sigh.
It rips compassion from my heart
So that my rest shall never start
Until I find a proper balm
Its pain to ease and soul to calm.
I bend to look beneath my bed
What shall I find where spiders tread?
Some creature fallen from the air?
A pixie with a broken wing perhaps,
Between the slats, within the gaps?
I looked, I looked, and looked again
I searched beneath my bed and then…
There isn’t anything around
That could be making such a sound.
Within my mind a thought arose
That I would never find repose
Until I solved this mystery—
And then I did.
It was a mattress spring.