#100MonstrousPoems 77: Hob

I’ll clean your house
While you’re asleep.
You’ll never see
Me as I creep
About at night
To scrub and mend,
But just take care
You don’t offend
The Hob

When you are sick
And in your bed
I’ll bring a cloth
To soothe your head
And medicine
To treat the pain
Unless you earn
The deep disdain
Of Hob.

And in return
I do expect
That you will treat
Me with respect.
A bowl of milk
Won’t go amiss
And just be sure
To never diss
The Hob.

If I am not
Appreciated
I’ll get cross
And you’ll be fated
To a life
Of toil and pain
I’ll never do
Your work again:
Not Hob!

Instead you’ll find
Your food will spoil
No crops will grow
Upon your soil
Your doors will stick,
Your mirrors crack
You’ll wish that you
Could see the back
Of Hob.

There’s one more thing
I truly loathe
Just never try
To give me clothes!
Can’t stand the things
They’re far too tight!
And nudity’s
The sacred right
Of Hob!