This Coffin is Comfy

A poem reflecting on death, although not in an overtly dejected manner.

This coffin is comfy, it seems,
with its velvety sleeper’s seat.
In rest, I’m as blue as the bird
and white as a cottony sheet.

This setting is stellar, it seems,
so the papers of prosper deem.
In rest, I’ll remain in their words,
remains like a practical dream.

Author's Note

I welcome comments and constructive criticism.