In twilight wool where cities sleep,
A blinking blob begins to peep.
With button eyes and stitched-up frown,
It hugs the dusk above the town.
No arms, no hands—just round and wide,
Yet love spills softly from its side.
Its cloudy feet on pastel homes,
It whispers peace in fibrous tones.
A guardian blob, both weird and wise,
It paints with joy the wooly skies.
And every eve when stars appear,
Blumphrey blinks—and all feels near.
Made with love and wools
