Midnight Sun and the Southern Galaxies

In the hush between comets, a piano rang true,
Midnight Sun sailed the stars in a ship made of blue.
His fingers, like meteors, danced on the keys,
Composing the silence of interstellar seas.
He rode through the South of the spiral array,
Where nebulae shimmer and moons softly sway.
Behind him, a legion—no warriors, no guns—
But the noble Pugdom, a thousand small suns.
Each pug wore a visor, each bark was a beat,
Their snorts formed the rhythm, their paws kept the heat.
They guarded the groove, they howled in delight,
As Midnight played ballads to bend speed and light.
From the jazz bars of Andromeda’s rim,
To the smoky black holes where the starlight grew dim,
He played for the lost, for the lonely, the bold—
And the pugs, they would cuddle the cosmos in gold.
So if ever you drift where the galaxies hum,
And hear distant chords from a celestial drum,
Know Midnight Sun’s journey is never quite done—
He plays on forever, with pugs and the sun.