In morning's haste, I sought the fold, A towel soft, to banish cold. Yet in my grab, I blindly blundered, Into an airing cupboard plundered. It became quite obvious, unfurled, It was an animal towel, a furry world. No cotton's grace, nor silken strand, But a shaggy beast from a distant land. As I dried my skin, a sudden plight, A covering of hairs, a tickling fright. The mystery solved, once cloth revealed, In an embrace of the wild, completely sealed. Now I laugh at the morning's jest, And find joy in a hairy crest. Next time, I'll pause and truly see, The tales each towel holds, wild and free.