Bearing With the Bard (for Pat)

The bear came to my table

Strong and able

Telling of the field and meadow 

All with great longing he 

Wanting company and tea

a very sociable fellow

He drank my wine

Ate my loaf in time

Whilst visiting for the day 

Wanting to play an affable host

and turning white as a ghost

I invited him to stay

He taught me how to fish and hunt

For berries to the point and blunt

He waxed philosophical

Then lectured on earth and religion

Making points to man with precision

Of blood, saints, and shakespeare metaphysical

Though gruff and snorting

With fearful cavorting

He meant no harm you see 

By and by as hours past 

Making all clear at last

We learned of his history

None dared move him from his place

As in the several hours space

He licked his paws and all the plates clean

Til off to bed we crept

Above the angels laughed and wept

Watching down upon the scene

When came the morning dawn

At his place upon our lawn

He quoted me his poetry

But my ears they could not hear

Then came upon me a kind of fear

My mind bewildered at the symmetry

I realized then that by some magic spell

While stumbling into the camp of day

As if still in the night of forest play

For reason that no one could tell

Sitting quizzical on me his wide eyes stared

That grizzly bruin once so terrible had been made a bard

While I uncivilized, held others at bay

My Dragons breath, and claws bid them pray 

A grumpy growl said, not now, don't care

There found in me, my heart and eyes

By some twist of fate to my surprise

This Nick Bottom, surmised as wise, did himself become the bear 

epilogue: serves to make one take note of bearings and moorings; the proclivities on the high seas of humanities' knees.