Beware the bear, my father said,

and he’d been taken to its lair,

read the truth, and clawed his way

from its clasp, a gasp from death

where all breath slows,

in Siberian taiga snows.

 

Beware the bear,

that funny, honey, sunny-featured creature

which, as a host, will greet you

to its land of ice and hut-filled woods,

with a hug and, open-armed,

insist your stay is longer

than you’d planned,

or thought you should.

 

Beware the bear,

Which, as a guest, drops in,

often uninvited,

bearing greetings unrequited,

leaving nothing it desires.

Leaving only when it tires.

It seldom does.

 

Beware the bear, my father said.

Beware the bear.