A car thumps by, outside on the rain spattered road;
youngsters, I think and smile.
My dogs, snoring in ecstatic little grunts,
make this room smell of biscuits,
I don’t mind, it’s rather nice.
Beneath my fingers a conversation almost happens,
with a clever boy in London.
As you age, it is said,
you need less sleep.
They each have a perfectly good basket to sleep in, surely this can’t be too comfortable?