His ribs showing through,

His skin tight to those ribs,

Road kill has been of late scarce,

Don’t have to worry about wearing a bib…

Cranberry bogs short on water,

Cranberries not growing,

No sustenance there,

His living cycle slowing…

Time to hibernate, the cold draws near,

No matter his condition, tis’ life he does fear,

A long time since a human he did kill,

Nigh’ onto or close to a hundred year…

He needs to feed,

A fat hunter would satisfy his need,

Sustaining him through the winter snow,

Living through the winter in a cave,

Beneath Apple Pie plateau…

© ed 11/8/08