A poem by twelve-year-old Eva DeHart from my middle grade novel, EVA OF THE FARM.
SAME OLD BEAR
Wood crackles the dawn,
and I know the same old bear is feasting
in the same old plum tree again.
Every year he swipes off whole branches,
gorging on glistening plums.
Does he dream of plundering our orchard
all winter in his stuffy den?
The tree looks worse every year--
mauled and broken--
but keeps bearing plums
as fat and red as a baby's cheeks.
The bear looks worse every year too--
muzzle grey, fut matted, one ear missing--
but keeps looting.
I keep expecting one of them to die--
the tree or the bear--
but they seem to need each other.
Which just goes to show you
that sometimes things work out fine
So long as that old bear
leaves a few plums for me.
--Eva of the Farm