Silent stage for dreams to play, where weary wanderers lay. With springs that hum a lullaby, beneath a sky of linen and cotton clouds, I cradle you softly until the sun returns.

Some keep ice, an Igloo’s nice. A cold front brings this air to life. A pillow’s other side at night. Too hot to eat? Wait for this to bite.

I may be heard before I’m seen, In brittle wood or tempers mean. I strike with teeth or angry tone, then fade as quickly as I’ve shown.

I hold your things and match your style, and follow you each passing mile.

A cozy dwelling, Your humble abode, I stay where I'm built, While you hit the road.