A little poem from Zoey's POV that popped into my head last night.
Francis
When times are tough, and I feel down,
Or there are Witches to be cr0wnd,
He's always there; I plainly see
My Francis will take care of me.
Though Tanks may roar, and cars may fly,
And other zombies in wait lie,
I'm not afraid – he'll keep me safe
From every single undead waif.
He hates all sorts of silly things
Like boats, Ayn Rand, and stuff with wings.
The water, vans, and small towns too,
But he told me, "I don't hate you."
Nothing ever seems to faze him,
Though all the rest of us are grim.
My heart is his – he holds the key.
My Francis watches out for me.