The Bed

 

Soft, supple, yielding to my touch,

Not used very much

Passions stronger than rivers flow

here, and then they go…

 

They trickle down the mountainsides of life

As boy and girl become man and wife

And the years go by

and the passions die…

 

But the bed is still made

And the magic of the bed has stayed

Here will another couple lie…

Until their passions burn and die.