Mr. Bear

Even bears lose their jobs once in a while.


Today Mr. Bear has to move house.

His own bear job was taken by a mouse.

A mouse knits faster, a two for one blouse.

At least Mr. Bear doesn’t have an angry spouse.


When Mr. Bear moves, it takes the whole day.

He has to pack all the berries and the hay.

The honey and the twigs he puts on a tray.

Gets distracted by a bee and they play.


They dance and sing, a happy little jiffy.

Mr. Bear gets tired, and a bit sniffy.

He contemplates on jumping off from a cliffy.

He is confused, more than just iffy.


Then he remembers one golden rule.

That can always help a sage or a fool.

His lion friend told him this shiny jewel.

A good friend she was in carnivore school.


Life gets better, no matter where you’re in

No matter who you are or where you’ve been.

If you’ve broken your heart or just your shin

Just keep smiling and raise your chin.


It’s no use just wallowing in sorrow.

That makes you just fear every tomorrow.

When you’re sad, come here and I’ll borrow

I’ll give you a smile, just say “Sí claro.”


Friends make you smile and they always will.

Even if heartbroken or just really ill.

This is a better cure than any pricey pill.

It works best when pawing downhill.


Mr. Bear sniffles into his big, furry paw.

Picks up the first, big, yellow straw.

Licks it a bit and then starts to gnaw.

Keeps it ‘tween his teeth in his big maw.


He peeks at a puddle and likes what he sees.

A farmer of sorts, either cows or bees.

On the countryside with a gentle, warm breeze.

His heart gives him a gentle, quick squeeze.


Mr. Bear decides to get his own farm.

That way “no job” won’t cause any harm.

He thinks some more and he gets the charm.

He wants dirt on his bear-fur’s arm.


He packs quickly with his newfound vigor.

He gets so excited that he starts to snigger.

He won’t become a nutty gold digger.

He’ll grow tasty plants, every year bigger.


Mr. Bear found a new life goal.

It might be hard, it might take its toll.

He might have to fight the occasional troll.

But let’s hope he makes friends with a gnoll.


With his bags he steps out of his cave.

He was feeling more than strong and brave.

He wants to find a sunny hill to engrave.

To make his own, to cultivate and save.


He looks to the left and he looks to the right.

On the left a bush and on the right a mite.

Mite means life, so it’s not a fair fight.

He starts ambling and hopes it goes alright.


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