Once a man had a pillow, Soft and plump, a perfect fellow, But one day it vanished, gone without a trace, Leaving him with an empty space.

He searched high and low, under every nook, But his dear pillow was nowhere to look, In desperation, he grabbed a bag of powder, Its fine white contents, like a delicate flower.

With no other choice, he lay his head down, On the lumpy bag, with a dusty frown, He closed his eyes, hoping for some rest, But the fine powder was not the best.

It shifted and moved, leaving him uncomfortable, He tossed and turned, feeling quite miserable, The fine powder leaked out, covering his bed, And soon, he regretted what he had said.

But as he breathed in the fine white dust, He found himself no longer needing to fuss, No longer tired, no longer in need of sleep, The powder was a solution, he didn't need to weep.

He missed his old pillow, its comfort and charm, But now he no longer needed it to disarm, The bag of fine white powder did him no harm, His problems were solved, his body transformed.