The Hat

"What happened to my hat?" I said,
I had it when I went to bed.
It kept me warm, as books I read
long into the night.

Is it now amongst the blankets?
Has it fallen to the floor?
Will I find it when I make the bed?
Or is it lost for evermore?

It's just a woolly hat, I know
- but it's been my friend in rain and snow,
and I'd miss it, when again I go
outside into the cold.

I remember once, high up a hill
the wind had brought an icy chill.
Then, in my pocket, I did feel
the warm comfort of the hat!

I placed it fast upon my hair
I'm glad it's something that I wear.
It may look old, but I don't care!
It's a comfortable old hat!

It was made, I think, in Afghanistan.
From some old goat, you understand.
Just perfect for this mountain man
when on some rock, I sat.

When I woke up, this morning
it was all just a dream,
for the hat was still upon my head
where, all night, it must have been.

As I looked out of the window
the ground was thick with snow.
The weatherman said "This cold spell
is now 12 degrees below."

But it matters not to me!
As, in my garden, you will see
me feeding birds and an old wildcat.
As warm as toast, beneath 'the hat'.