Bye-bye, jarg fitted sheet. Your count of thread—as felt by my feet—is not worthy of my bed.

Bye-bye, partner’s pillow. I care not if they heard me snore; you aided and abetted their crime on me: to smoor.

Bye-bye, warmthful dreams. Way-too-early birds mammocked you with their boasting, wormful screams.

Hi-hi, brightening sky. You herald day’s begin—as your night-owl turtle grumbles towards another wakey win. ; )