#290
Sounds
Each night my master comes to me
Before he goes to bed,
Bends down and puts his bushy lips
Upon my hairy head.
He pats my butt and whispers sounds,
Sounds I never dread,
Unlike the rolling thunder
That echoes through my head.
I love the sounds he says to me,
Followed by my name,
For then I close my eyes and sleep,
And let the dreams me claim.
"I love you, Little Guy."