The Bear

Most words are nonsense
Written on paper, toys
When I was young I was
A scout, a boy, we used to
Build, construct, walk, sometimes to run
Once, we saw a bear, all of us took our knives

Praying, we moved forward and stabbed each other
So the bear couldn’t kill us

Somehow an angel found his way through With a hand or two,
he pulled us from that state
I was now satisfied as I saw a blessing

I was turned into a bear, finally
I could scratch my back on trees