I suppose this warmth coming
out of this wooly tiger
could be nothing but
a warm heart.

He made up the rules
as he went along.
A game that was wild
and so fun,
but needed a good
time. Arguments, with no referee,
it could be no fair
to those that were involved.

Hard times make good games
and better players,
he knew well.
He loved to death the monster;
he slept soundly within its den.
Snoring profusely like he part of its pride.