B

The Bare Bear

Last week I saw a sight so rare,

I thought I must be dreaming.

A pitiful bear without his hair

sat on my back porch weeping.

"What's wrong, little bear?

What's brought you there,

to sit on my back porch weeping?"

The bear looked up, grief in his eyes

and began to sob once more.

"I've lost my hair, I've looked everywhere!

It's gone and I just can't find it."

I thought a while then I brought out a mop

that I'd bought the other day.

I trimmed it to size and glued it on

and patted him down and

raised his chin and wished him luck

and waved goodbye

as he toddled away, now whistling.