Little brother, covered in fur,
is it any mystery when I am sure,
that I find comfort, in silence with you,
‘cause I get so sick of talking to
our brothers and sisters who ask so much,
when all you want is my tender touch.
Rest assured, I want yours too,
it is here that I find comfort with you.
And with our quiet solitude,
we both know there is nothing to prove.
We share our joy; our mutual thanks
go to our mother, our foremost saint.
- Justen Cheney
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