In the hush of Arctic's realm, where icy winds attempt to overwhelm,
There lies a father, fierce and kind, a duality in him intertwined.
With fur as soft as fallen snow, yet eyes that with a fire glow,
He guards his cub with tender might, a father bear, both day and night.
In nature's script, the norm's dismissed, a father's role is oft amiss,
But he, the Bipolar Bear, defies, with a nurturing heart, under frosty skies.
Contrary to the wild's cold law, he stays to nurture, to adore,
A guardian rare, in the icy glare, teaching lessons of care, beyond compare.
His heart, a drum of gentle love, echoes softly like the dove,
Yet within, a storm does rage, a warrior's spirit, ageless sage.
In his embrace, his cub finds peace, from fears and dangers sweet release,
But to the world, he shows his teeth, a protector's vow beneath.
Beneath the aurora's ghostly dance, he watches with a steady glance,
His mood, like northern lights, does shift, from soft whispers to a tempest swift.
In him, the poles of nature meet, where tenderness and fury greet,
A bipolar soul, yet wholly one, under the never-setting sun.
With each step upon the frost, a line between two worlds is crossed,
In his growl, a lullaby, in his strength, a soothing sigh.
He's the keeper of balance's scale, through blizzard's fury, through gentle gale,
In him, the extremes of love are spun, a fierce storm and a gentle sun.
So hear the tale of bipolar bear, a father's love, a warrior's stare,
In him, the wild's deepest truth is told, of a heart both warm and cold.
He's the spirit of the north, where love and strength both come forth,
A reminder in him every stride, of life's complex, beautiful ride.
Peter Pickering · Bipolar Bear