As You see my
little cub face
with silken ears
and matted paw,
troubled maw;
so much seen–
(can it be unseen?)
I scratch at my wounds
and growl, as fiercely
as I can muster.
So You laugh to Yourself for a moment,
then the saddest look
comes etched across Your Big Bear face,
which with all its holy sullenness
weaves the strongest invisible cords around my
weak heart.
Then reaching out a single paw
with softest fur
and strongest claw–
You beckon, with clear brown eyes.
Out You stretch,
in You draw,
near You pull me,
into the safest, warmest shadow,
where You feed me milk
and honey
and lick my crusted wounds
till they are wonderfully clean
and I am suddenly
(over a span of time)
a Little Bear–
having become not quite exactly,
but very much
like You.

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