In a field where the poppies grow tall and grand,
Bipolar Bear wanders through this strange land.
Each bloom stands out, bright against the green,
Yet among the tallest, a troubling scene.
Why do they cut the loftiest down?
Why bring the brightest to the ground?
Bear learns quickly, it’s envy’s old game,
To level the field, make all the same.
In this land, success bears a hidden price,
For those who shine must sometimes think twice.
He watches as the vibrant are made small,
Not for their deeds, but because they stand tall.
Yet Bear, in his wisdom, ponders this plight,
Is it worth dimming one’s brilliant light?
“No,” he determines, as he walks on the earth,
“I’ll rise, I’ll dazzle, I’ll prove my worth.”
“Let them talk,” he growls, unfazed by the threat,
“I’ll be the poppy they won’t soon forget.”
His spirit undaunted by the envy he sees,
Bipolar Bear chooses to stand tall with ease.
In fields of poppies, some are destined to fall,
But Bear knows the value of standing tall.
Through whispers and shadows, he carves his own path,
A tall poppy survives in the aftermath.
Peter Pickering · Bipolar Bear