a whimsical sonnet
Upon the rising of the sun I rose
As well, and went to tend my garden path,
But found it blocked by bears in deep repose;
And so, not wanting to provoke their wrath,
I tarried at the gate, and watched, and mulled.
And so, as morning ticked its moments by,
And senses by its summer magic lulled,
I sighed, but turning, caught a bruin’s eye,
Just opened from its slumber; yet, alert,
It sharply gazed as from a distant place.
I fled — lest it should character obvert
And come devour me, leaving not a trace.
Thus, meeting bears, one likes to exercise
Decorum, lest an error bring demise.