Pillow (an acrostic poem)

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Plowing and sowing the world of sleep

It was hard work, but he was a farmer to his soul

Little furrows stretched to the horizon containing the roots of fertile dreams and scream-inducing nightmares

Lying there, waiting to be harvested

Once he was ready and picked them, Morbius would pay him handsomely for this crop

Wait till the slumbering humans were served these delectables!

Menu (an acrostic poem)

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Maybe tonight I’ll just order one of everything.

Everything?  You haven’t even looked at what’s being served tonight.

Not going to worry.  I trust the chef implicitly .

Uncle Maximilian, you’re the best!