Deep in the wilderness,
hanging around his log cabin like uncertain teenagers,
four black bears await handouts from an old man
clad in a faded chequered shirt.

Each summer he dwells here,
peacefully shunning his own kind
who have long since
deemed him backwoods crazy.

Yet the bears know and tolerate him,
this strange harmless creature who,
year upon turning year, arrives with the green shoots
and departs with the falling leaves.

For theirs is a world of seasons,
and deep in their winter sleep
they sometimes dream of
the curious, pink-faced being
that brings food and stares at them
with glassy, fish-like eyes.

In time they will take their cubs to see him,
as they themselves were once taken,
and will again be comforted
by his sweetly smelling presence.

The bears have a name for him that
cannot be pronounced in human tongue,
for, in their ancient ursine way,
they reciprocate his unquestionable love.