Three Bears and Pears

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Three Bears and Pears

Once I saw three giant, shaggy brown bears
All munching away on my sweet Bartlett pears.
“What are you doing?” I asked of those three.
“Why, how silly,” said one, “Can’t you just see
That we’re having our dinner under this tree?”


“Well, yes,” said I, “and I’m glad that you are.
“Bartletts are healthy. I’m sure you’ll go far.
But I don’t understand why you’re inside my tent.”
“Why, we were waiting for you since you were absent,”
He said, looking fierce. I gave him no argument.


They finished their pears and licked at their paws,
Then they each stuck out their long, sharp claws.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to run.
Bears in your tent – it’s just no fun!
But I gulped down my fear and shook one-on-one.


Sammy was first, then Clyde and big Bill.
The last was enormous. He gave me a chill,
But politely I shook and bid them sit down,
Wishing all the while I was in bed in my gown,
The covers overhead under eiderdown*.


We chatted a while, those three bears and I.
Until I started yawning and looking cross-eyed.
“Oh, you must be sleepy,” said Clyde, or was it Bill?
“Time rarely halts to a total standstill.”
I nodded. They left, Sammy, Clyde, and Bill.


Some nights seem long, and some are very short,
But never are they stranger than ones of that sort.
In the morning I decided no more camping under trees.
I boiled up my coffee, ate crackers with cheese,
And left behind bears and pears, quick as a sneeze.


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