Who's Been Sleeping in My Bed?

Who Has Been Sleeping in My Bed - Celebrating Porridge Day Illustrations on Night Cafe https://creator.nightcafe.studio/collection/Z1cprBeQnLNLhrbkjGsQ Watch on YouTube https://youtu.be/7Rmvlfydab8 Watch on TikTok https://www.tiktok.com/@artelisabeth/video/7424175919582973214?is_from_webapp=1&sender_device=pc&web_id=7420959503388460587 Sunlight danced and played Across her curls In the faery glade, Tea party with the tulips, Butterflies and ladies dancing, Playing right along, Ignoring hunger, Undistressed Until the shadows grew too long. Running fast for fear the dark Would leave her lagging, lost, alone, She wended quickly through the woods, Sure she was headed right because Far ahead, she saw the light. A light upon a cottage porch— There she found it, But it wasn’t hers. Oh dear! The dark crept large behind, So at the door she knocked, Knocked again And tried. The handle turned— It wasn’t locked. She crept in and called, “Hello?” Dark shadows still inside, But no one was there. Still alone. Afraid to return to the forest night, The calling predators in the night, She stepped inside And stood afraid, Not wanting to intrude. But hunger that forsook her play Came back in her anxious state and stayed. Growling from her stomach fierce, She saw a glimmer In another room— A hearth glowing warm, A pot nearby it stood. A thumping, tumbling rattle came, And the cauldron burbled and brayed. Porridge, her very favorite dish— She couldn’t help, She took a cup And ate it down, Delicious stuff. The night grew darker, Darker still. She feared she’d have to stay, Soul chilled. Unfamiliar place she sat, Several chairs— Oversized and grand— But one of better-suited height. She sat down, and it was right. She waited still, Apology prepared For the porridge she ate. But still nowhere, No light or noise Approached the door. She sat and sat a little more. So tired from her worried flight, Tired from the growing night, She sighed and looked upstairs and then Decided it was just as bad To use a chair as a bed. So up she crept so carefully— No creak escaped her little feet. The first room, giant again she sees, A bed she’d never be able to reach. But once again, another door— A little bed, Perfect to her size, As if it was made With her in mind. Sleep found her there so quick. She just lay down, and that was it. Her eyes just closed, and then she dreamed, Dreamed of parents like giants, mean. Who would have big beds and chairs? Were the other ones for her? Dreams tossed and turned her mind, Till up she sat, And quite surprised— Over her in peaceful group, A troop of bears. Not bears like she had ever seen, But bears like men in clothes and things. She didn’t take the time to puzzle This strange sight for long. The smallest turned to speak, His muzzle parting to giant teeth. And turning up his head, he said, “Who's been sleeping in my bed?” A bear with speech? Who would believe? But fear did drag her out the door, A fear greater than the dark Drew her out into the night. The moon was high, and in her fright, She ran and tumbled through the woods. Happily, she found her home And swore no more Would she so roam. The bears had quite a different tale. They had just been out to market sale, Happy in their purchases— Home late, though. The porridge burbled joy, To feed them from their long convoy. They unpacked and put away their things, Talking of the little girl With the golden rings of hair so fair. They would have been happy if she had stayed there. Sad she had to run away, The little bear most sad— For isolated as they lived, He had no other friends his size To have tea parties in disguise.