Byron sits at my window

Spiny green back to the night

His thorns my valiant protectors

To guard me until dawn’s light

I fear my nightmares no longer

For Byron stands my guard

And when no terror encroaches

He sits and looks up at the stars

Though he isn’t a very large fellow

Brave Byron can stand his ground

When he is ready at duty

No evils are to be found

Can a cactus be a guardian?
I believe, indeed, it’s so

Because I know my good Byron

And his noble, stalwart soul.