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.