If the pillow I sleep on could talk,
It might tell you of the life I walked.
It has been with me for thirty years,
And has soaked up many tears.
A bolster pillow when it was made,
To stretch the full bed where it laid.
When my marriage ended it was cut in two,
He took one half and I took one too.
Through the years it's had many covers,
But my feather pillow is like no other.
And so many stories it could tell,
A comfort if I was sick or well.
It may tell you of anguish and pain,
Or times I went down memory lane.
On it for years I have laid my head,
But some things are better left unsaid.
It could tell of love and fights,
Of my many, many lonely nights.
It could tell of revenge for discretions,
And unto God my many confessions.
When I think back sometimes I laugh,
And wonder where is the other half?
If it's destroyed or in commission still,
And should I include mine in my will?
There must be memories holding it together,
A memory for each and every feather.
I wonder if the same can be said,
of half a pillow where he lays his head.
Written by: Thelma Shutters
11-21-02
