Mary Shellenberg
Within her den lay small white hairs
From bib, legs, and her tail,
Awake she journeys off upstairs
Her pup and mate exhale.
They leave the image of their lair
To find a comfort bush,
And here they take their second air
As sleep finds the ambush.
It’s in this bush the bird’s nest lies –
Its highest, strongest branch,
So, when the wind’s breath slowly dies,
The young birds avalanche.
The oldest does not care for rough
Like branches in a stack.
Instead, it flies close to the bluff
And finds the big bear’s back.
His food ingested and no more
The bear walks towards his den,
But on the floor, he finds white hair
‘Cause here the fox had been.
Just as he felt great need to rest
It seemed that he should go,
For one last meal he thought to have
Where the fresh water flows.
For up they swam, and did not look,
To see their clear-cut fate.
The bear’s last meal was on its hook:
The fish served up as bait.
They needed refuge right away –
A rock or hidden bank.
So, when they found a wall of clay,
In nature they did thank.