I’m just a lowly, humble rug,
Prostrate upon the floor
And people walk all over me,
But that’s what rugs are for
I’m taken out, sometimes, it’s true,
And beaten with a stick
I don’t think I deserve it,
It’s just because I’m thick
My owners call the doctor out,
He tends me for a while;
Washes me and touches me up,
And soothes my twisted pile
My uncle’s a fitted carpet
He covers a whole room
But my size was preordained at birth
Even in my mother’s loom
My cousin flies around the world,
But he’s a Persian rug
I’m just left alone down here,
‘Though I’ve got the travel bug
My owners seem attached to me,
Don’t think they’d let me stray
They've even bought some non-slip grip;
In case I slip away
I know it could be worse for me
I could have been a mat
People wipe their feet on them
And where’s the fun in that?
I really try to accept my fate
And vow to be content
But my dreams are filled with Arabian nights
And lounging in a Bedouin tent
© Copyright 2016 red2skelf. All rights reserved.
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