A Poem For Mother’s Day ©
One Spring morning Papa Bear tiptoed into Baby Bruno’s play room and said,
“ Tomorrow is Mother’s day.” Bruno was not surprised. He said, “ I know. I have a
present for Mama.”
“ What is it?” Papa Bear asked.
“ It is a surprise.”
“ Still!” Papa Bear peeked around. “ Is it large to be hid in a jar?
“ Yes. ”
“ Then it is still in the house?”
“ No,” Baby Bruno answered slyly.
“ Something you can eat?”
“ If you are that hungry.”
Papa bear thought over it and scratched his head “ Give me a good hint, Bruno!”
“ Papa it is a surprise. The present is not for you.”
“ I know it is for your mama.” Papa bear got a little annoyed. But he threw up his hands and said, “ I have to go out. Be good.” Papa Bear hurriedly went out.
Baby Bruno went to Mama Bear and said, ” I must go out!”
“ Is it far in the woods?”
“Oh no mama!”
“ Are you onto meet someone?”
“Yes,” replied Baby Bruno,” Nothing more I can tell.” Mama Bear eyed her son quizzically.” There is some secret I suppose.”“ Is there?” Baby Bruno retorted mysteriously and ran off. He headed towards the cabbage patch to call out.
“ Rusty, Rusty It is me, Bruno!”
“ What is it now?”
Badger the poet came out dressed slovenly and he had sheaves of paper stuffed in his gown. “ I am in the middle of it!” He examined the ink stains on his hands.
“What do you mean?”
“It says what it is meant to say,” Rusty said a little out of breath, “In other words I am half way through the poem.”
“ You ought to read the poem to appreciate my difficulties!” Rusty said moping his face, “And my den is so small I can’t even trot my words without hitting the ceiling.”
Badger the poet took a sniff and said, “Glorious day!“
Immediately he rummaged in his pocket to take a piece of paper out. He read
“Mama, when I smell
honeysuckle in bloom/ your name I recall/…
Rusty relished his own work to remark, “Pretty neat
Baby Bruno looked at the poet in wonder, “You thought
of honeysuckle while the cabbages grow overhead?”
“ It was difficult Bruno, but a poet like me writes to please.” He looked at cabbage heads and said,” Go on with your vegetable lives!” He snorted in disgust and
added, “My poem is for mothers wherever they may be!”
At this baby Bear took offense. He tugged at the sleeve of the poet to say, “You are writing this for my mother in particular!”
“I know,” the badger replied, “You paid me five hazelnuts in advance.” He added, “ Come away from this rather prosaic world.” The badger took him to the river’s edge and said, “Here I shall complete the poem. With a winding river in front of me.”
The poet hurriedly scribbled and after checking all the scraps of paper he faired it out on a scroll.
“The poem is complete,” the badger announced in glee. “ Read it to me!” the bear was eager to hear.
Rusty cleared his throat and read loud and clear:
“ I dip my pen in rivers of ink, Mother
For this day isn’t just another;
Mother’s day I ring in with a song.
Mama when I smell honeysuckle in bloom
Your name I recall/ Ah Mama Honeysuckle!
“ Stop! Stop,” baby Bruno shouted. Rusty peered at the bear, “Poets do not generally take to interruptions.” He said matter-of-factly.
“ My mother is not called Honeysuckle.”
“ What is it then?” “ Mama Lisl Drago”
“ Are you sure she will not change her name?” Poet Rusty wondered loud,
“Honeysuckle has more force and sweetness than Drago.”
“ I agree, “ baby Bear replied,” but we are talking of Mother’s day, and my mother in particular!”
“ I guess I will have to change my poem here and there.” Rusty said with a sigh,
“After all you are paying for it.”
“ You said it!” Baby Bruno grinned.