Roderick

Roderick was into sleeping.
He went to bed because in his head
he was boring.
No one noticed his time asleep.
He’d been gone a year and week,
which suggests he was quite boring.
He’d been lying in bed day after day,
when someone wondered, then went on to say,
“Where’s Roderick?”
They found him asleep and snoring.

Then they said how long it took
to find him in his tiny nook.
He quietly stated that he mistook
the year and week for one nice long sleep
convinced it was just the next morning.

Only getting up to go to the toilet,
his face was pale, eyes crusty and set.
At some time his beard he’d wrapped into
a bun, his idea of having a small bit of fun
to deal with the cold and no nightcap instead
he wrapped it around his balding head.
They all said how odd he looked.
He replied it was heat restoring.

With no one to talk to and no tv,
Roderick had slept all of that time restfully.
In his small dark room where day remained night
where awake was tedious and without delight.
When Roderick woke to that knock on the door,
a voice had asked, “Roderick, would you like to sleep more?”
Roderick never felt better than when he was sleeping
so to sleep again he went as night came creeping.
Never was he or others so content
than when Roderick slept and time simply went
another year until Roderick’s next dawning.

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