What safer a place than below my bed
where no one would think to find you,
with things unused and wilted dead
no light with which to blind you,
So out of sight that one would think
you're kept there by neglect
but deep beneath my covers sink
the things best to protect.

How preserved a home, below my head
through pillow, mattress, frame
to keep a work whose letters bled
to the synapses of my brain
where fingers fleeting flashing flop
on a yellow aged face
black below but red on top
in a dark unnoticed place

Where more fitting a home than amongst my socks,
that housed my toes so neatly
with your friends the Shoe and the Kleenex box,
I have locked you in completely
So out of touch with all the world
you feel you've been dismissed,
your dusty coat and your edges curled
any stranger would resist

What safer a place than below my bed
where only I will enjoy your wonder
pages untouched and poems unread
We'll cast the rest asunder
Should the day some where someone knelt
To take one fateful look
Abashed the emotions flowing felt
of my favourite childhood book.