Professor Appel's Eyebrow

We stand upon this barren balding plain,
Our ranks much thinned by craft of fursome foe.
We stand the pale thin vangaurds ‘gainst the rain.
But cannot block the sun or shield from snow.
And who could be the enemy so great?
The self-important foe who drives us back,
He forays north while rests his dext’rous mate.
He flies enraged in self-impressed attack.
Twixt jutting ears, above all-seeing eyes
He reigns. Each Tuesday jumping in the air,
Our border ocean creased in pleased surprise
He sails across to make our army bare.
But who are we this eyebrow fills with dread?
We are the hairs that die on Appel’s head.