Oh sand, my sand, how comfortable

You are to rest my weary bones

Such a soothing flowing thing

That’s made of tiny little stones

Stones so polished by the flow

Of River or of ocean tide

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And nothing quite so comforting

Within my weary bones abide

Sand, you hug all surfaces

In a firm and shaped embrace

Even pressure everywhere

surrounding every bony face

In terms of dirt for decent naps

I recommend a sandy pit

To snuggle down into support

And (here’s the really handy bit)

When struggling to come awake

To walk once more among the living

Just give the sandy bed a shake

It flows away (it’s so forgiving)

Dust, or dirt? The vamps can have it.

For their naps in coffin caves

For me? I snuggle down in sand

It makes a far more comfy grave.

(But if you’re going to do that?

Make sure to never have a cat.)