Jim the toddler was inconsolable.
The wracking sobs that shook his little frame
Tore at the hearts of his desperate family.
No crooning could soothe his toddling distress,
And, for certain, no sleep would be forthcoming
For any in the household that night.
No essay would be finished and for sure
No beauty sleep enjoyed
By the haggard-eyed inhabitants
Until that absconder, that furry scamp,
That moth-eaten similitude of the ursine species
Was found.
Jim’s sweet furry friend, so sartorial, if you please,
The wellington boots, the mackintosh, the bucket hat,
But – surprise, surprise! No pants!
They sighed wearily – there was no help for it –
All were dragooned into the search …
Who’d have thought this battered composition
Of the toymaker’s art,
Of none-too-clean yellow furry fabric
And missing a button eye,
Could so enmesh a baby’s heart?
Wondrous, too, how instantly Jim’s howling quieted
As if laid out by a rubber mallet,
For, with the mere touch of the reprobate teddy,
Against his toddler cheek, he fell into a blissful sleep.
‘The Midnight Search for Teddy’
