Solomon's bedroom

Used to have a floor.

Sadly, those days are no more.

Would a service be right?

It put up a good fight.

It battled and fought,

But, sadly, for naught.

A headstone, perhaps,

To mark where it lay.

A testimony to

That one fateful day

When its battle was lost

When the war was done

When the floor was defeated

When the room

(And Solomon)

Won.

A sock was the first,

Probably the worst.

It came under cover of night.

It seemed a gentle soul;

In the heel was a hole

And its colour was yellow and bright.

But the floor wasn't fooled

It knew socks came in twos.

So it waited for this sock's mate,

But, by then, it was done

The war already won,

When it started it was already too late.

A book,

A pen,

That sock back again,

A T-shirt turned outside in.

Underwear everywhere

Thrown without a care,

And screwed up paper that just missed the bin.

Bunnies and bears

And big balls of fur

That squeaked when they were stood upon,

Shared spaces with bits

Of Potato Head faces

The head of which was long gone.

Bit by bit

The floor disappeared.

It slowly faded from sight,

Until, at last,

The point was passed

And it, finally,

Gave up the fight.

Forgotten now,

Hidden from view,

It's a vague memory,

If even that.

But it's not just the floor

That's disappearing anymore...

It's been a while since we've seen the cat...