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.