My old blanket

He is old as a samurai
He is red like an apple
His memory is a brain
You may just ask, how old is he
As I write this, he is ten.

He was bought at a shop that is as small as an ant
On the side of a mountain that is a giant rock

He is a red blanket, that was used to wrap me up
He is good at hugging, he has long arms that can hold you tight
He has a soft voice that greets you when you get home
He has many memories of being wicked when he was wicked.

I will always love him, he will never leave my memory.