Teddy Bear

He is that of a flower’s dream Delicate and genuine in emotion Though his courage is of little esteem To hateful thoughts, he has no devotion He has the contempt of a newborn child Nervous explorer, searching for a pal His fiercest advance is little more than mild Little things amaze him like the wind’s mighty howl He stays awake late at night Resounding songs of painful sorrow He longs to catch his lost mother in sight But for now, maternal feelings he will thankfully borrow For he is the nervous king of bugs and such For he is the sweet keeper of kindness of heart For he is the pussy willow, fearful to the touch For he is Teddy, and of us, forever a part