Of the Floof Kind

He pads through the house though there’s little light,

Making little sound.

Confirming everything is alright,

Unwilling to let his people down.

Then he returns to the beds,

Checking everyone’s heads,

Reassuring himself that they’re fine.

And has a little to eat,

And then, relaxing, goes to sleep,

Doing the work of a floof kind.

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