Beware the furtive duvethog* that hunts in bed at night
It holds the duvet loosely when you first turn out the light
Then it goes into a death roll like a river crocodile
You start out under covers, but that’s only for a while
Before you know what’s happened you are in the open air
Tucked up into ‘not a lot’ where duvet once was there
You try to find a corner but it’s vanished without trace
It’s just as hard as getting the duvet into the duvet case
You think you might just snuggle up into the duvet worm
The heat within’s not coming out, no, not one single therm
Your body temp is slipping : ninety eight, now ninety seven
(The heartless swine beside you’s never getting into heaven)
You think you might just freeze to death – you’re starting now to panic
Your brain invents a brand new law of bed thermodynamics
If heat’s conserved, it surely is inside the duvethog
“But why ?” you ask. Because the arse has stolen all the togs.
* In my mind this kind of rhymes with ‘rubber dog’.
This verse was inspired by the #FairytaleFriday writing challenge on Twitter.