12th February 2022
So what, if Morwenna sleeps in her wellies–?
It’s up to her, how she lives life.
There’s no bone of contention, ‘cos she’s there on her own:
No partner, or husband, or wife.
Why shouldn’t Morwenna sleep in her wetsuit,
Come to think of it, if she’s inclined?
A neoprene tube’s not the thing I would choose;
But there’s no telling what’s on her mind!
Perhaps she has nightmares of flooding
And finds that, by sleeping prepared
For a dive from a ship, she can get a good kip –
As I’ve said, no-one else needs to care.
What some folk put on to get ready for bed
Could be the first thing which enters their head;
Or maybe going to Great Snoring in clothes which are boring
Is a concept which fills them with dread.
So if anyone thinks, ‘All righty!’
And forgoes the old jimjams or nightie…
Well, they do nothing wrong by donning a thong,
Or a cassock that choristers wear to give song;
Perhaps in a catsuit, their hair in a snood
Or, perfectly naturally, all in the nude…
LEAVE THEM ALONE to sleep how they choose –
Or I’ll write you a song called The Bossyboots Blues!
Meanwhile –
As you’re wondering why any bod
Would go to bed wearing their old wellygogs…
Morwenna, she lives right by the beach,
With the tideline in such easy reach:
She’s the best beachcomber I ever did know
And therefore, quite understandably so,
Like a firefighter ever alert for the bell
Even sleeping, her nose stays on guard for the smell
Of fresh-arrived driftwood on the tideline
(Mahogany, oak, teak, larch, or pine)…
Day or night out she will scramble,
Happily taking a wild weather gamble:
Fast as a rocket whose engine roars
She’s down to the splashing, foamy shore…
Later homeward with, balanced on shoulder,
A plank she has plucked from its perch on a boulder;
Or a sturdy beam; perhaps a handy pole
Rescued from the very ocean’s roll.
Three cheers for Morwenna: she is fantastic,
Because she also gathers tons of plastic!
If only the rest of the our human race
Cared so much about this wonderful place.
© Christopher Jessop 2022
