Everyone knows, the sun is nice. This, our bear, he knew.
He sat there, in the snow he did, while years they past him flew.
He would not jump, he would not move, a bit like stuck with glue.
His fur turned brown, he never frowned nor did he ever feel blue.
With his new fur, he travelled south, to look for gentler wind.
He ran easier now than ever before, he was lighter, his body thinned.
He swam in the swamps and in the ponds, he climbed the big pine trees.
He found a place to live, a glade, with a pond and honey bees.
He spent his days dozing, eating berries from the bush.
Sometimes he even might dig up an anthill with his tush.
He might hunt a moose to make his belly outgrow his chest.
He would eat some and dig a hole to hide all the rest.
One warm day, the glade was dry, no rain clouds there for days.
Suddenly, no one knows why, the grass became ablaze.
Our brown friend, he took a cloth and started beating the flames.
To stop the fire and save the glade, these were his only aims.
He did succeed, yay for him, to kill out the whole fire.
With the ash, his fur turned gray: a prize for dousing the pyre.
He travelled west to find a pool, a dip he did desire.
A giant one, such great big one, he had never seen one prior.
He swam and swam till the shore, his fur still ashen gray.
Found a salmon stream he did, where watery mists do spray
And nuts and berries and all the sort in this big, flowering bay.
He lazed around and slept all day, just food and rest and play.
The winter came and by it went and all he did was sleep.
His den had food and twigs and such, a great big, giant heap.
Springtime came and he woke up, he felt like doing a leap.
West he went across a pond so vast and blue and deep.
One day he saw hole in the ground and went to have a look.
Black rock everywhere in there, in every cranny and nook.
He roamed and rambled for a while, a week or so it took.
He came out, and feeling his thirst he walked up to a brook.
The surface was so calm and clean, himself he there could see.
Black his fur was, all over, except for a white Vee.
On his chest this letter was, not ears neither the knee.
But, he still felt the need for the food of our friend, the bee.
He noticed he could rise on hinds and walk for over a mile.
Climbing trees was easier when starting with this style;
The strong arms, that he now did have, helped him in this trial.
Climbing trees is so much fun that all he did was smile.
One day he heard a song, he did, while sitting in a tree.
A song so strong and close to him, this he had to see.
He saw the singer, whose face was white, sipping on some tea.
Took her paint to paint himself, it filled him with great glee.
Slapped the paint on his big head, his back while he did grin.
Missed his eyes and legs, he did, his peepers and his shin.
When done, he took a glimpse, he did, at a mirror where he was in.
Realized this one fun thing: he was a panda once again.
And that’s how bears came to be. Not a true story.