July 31, 2020

Here you rest, my little squire, 

caring for my home and me,

fending off the Baskerville,

So we can stay alive and free.

...putting out the little fires,

...resting on a winter’s day,

...drinking to your heart’s desire

...loving still, me, anyway

My bubble butt, she walks the night,

hot or cold, and poops delight,

but then she will come back to me,

with rain and snow and rotten flea!

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Of red I fear, it strobes and breaks

the night, I hear the calls it makes. 

He hasn’t long before it’s done,

and yet my feelings, colder. None!

Who's this man before me, death!

Still, he takes, one last, his breath!

Where am I? I lie in bed.

My life is here, in front of me,

I could be laying by the sea!

I know him not, but he is real,

And when I lay, I’ll be alone.