Tattered Old Mr Teddy Bear

In my bed, my childhood teddy layers next to me. Absent mindedly I trace his now tattered seams, And his matted brown fur from years of tears and hugs. Even though I'm old and gray, privately we talk. No, I'm not feeble-minded as some might think. I talk to Teddy of my thoughts I had that day. As long as I can speak, my Teddy is my guy. He's my greatest listener where so many are not. If he begins to talk, they'll surely take me away.