“The Lump under the Bedclothes” – A Poem for Children

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The first time she heard it young Rachel was one,

She lay in her cot as the night-time dragged on.

With wriggles and squirms, her blanket got ruffled,

From folds at her feet came a voice partly muffled:


“Hello!” said the lump from down under her sheet,

“Can I be your friend? It’s a pleasure to meet!”

Invisible playmate for Rachel at two?

Those dull-witted grown-ups just hadn’t a clue.


The lump praised her walking, her totter and toddle,

That running and jumping and skipping’s a doddle!

The lump helped her talking, by night and by day,

And soon pre-school Rachel was chatting away.


When Rachel was three she moved into a bunk,

Beneath toys and pillows her playmate was sunk.

But always at bedtime the blankets were cleared,

And there every evening her best friend appeared.


On cold winter nights when all tucked in and snug,

Both monkey and bump she would cuddle and hug.

Or when in the summer and stifling heat,

The draught kept her cool through the hump in her sheet.


The Lump Girl


When Rachel was four she changed into a bed,

The lump came right with her, this time by her head.

If ever she moved from one house to the next,

The lump always followed – her dad was perplexed.


At last came the day to begin full-time school,

To get herself ready on time was the rule.

When friends came to see her, to visit and play,

She’d tell them the things that her blanket would say.


When told by her Mummy to straighten her bed,

She’d always leave ruffles and creases instead.

Her brother just laughed and said: “Don’t be so silly!

No bedclothes can talk – they’re just humpy and hilly!”


Discovering books, she was learning to read,

The lump in her bedclothes her stories would heed.

She’d show it the pictures, and read out each word,

Then giggle and laugh at a joke so absurd.


And when all her playtime was homework and study,

She’d work in her room with her duvet her buddy.

In years that soon followed, with worries to hide,

In blankety lump she would always confide.


Her duvet heard secrets, and mopped all her tears,

Consoled and encouraged through teenager fears.

Her question to ask as this story must end:

Do you have a lumpy and blankety friend?


The Lump Teen