The Bears’ Lullaby 

Hush, my little worried one
	The trees, they are not dead;
The leaves, they will return in time
	Though now they fall instead.
The daffodils have gone to sleep,
	And so, my child, must we.
The colors are not gone for good,
	First sleep, and then you’ll see.

The north wind stalks these woods my child,
	With sharp and icy claws
His teeth will chew your ears and frost
	Will bite your tender paws.
Cold may be the stones above,
	But warm your den below.
Safe and snug with leaves and love
	Beneath the winter snow.

Now get thee to your den my child,
	As I shall go to mine;
There to sleep and soon to dream
	Of coming warmer times.
When golden sun shall flood these woods
	And blunt the north wind’s bite,
The daffodils and we shall wake
	To springtime’s glorious sight.