My Bed is an Air Balloon

When night falls my bed is an air balloon. I sail through the slipsiverse, close by the moon. I float above treetops where fluttertufts are sleeping And flowering hills where the whifflepigs go creeping; Ponds strung with starlight that glitter like glass, A floog with her velvet nose bent to the grass. Such treasures I spy on! My bed in the trees Swings me up high, like a circus trapeze. Now the cool, night-rustling air Slips through my finger-gaps, ripples my hair; Now we glide over water, the