Bedrest and Lame Poetry

Six legs in all

But nothing’s afoot.

Four stand tall,

And two are moot.

Should I get up and walk around?

Or will I fall, flat on the ground?

My back still hurts,

But I’m bored being supine.

Maybe I’ll move a little. 

That should be fine.

Or maybe not, a thought a-triggers.

Just wait a while for someone, it figures.

The hours pass 

And yet no word, no talk.

I wouldn’t have been so bored 

If I’d taken that walk.

I did it again I dully muse.

Made laze, not pain, my excuse.

So six legs in all,

Two are afoot.

Four stand tall,

Made of wood.