Out crawled the bear cub from his den, He got so caught up in the climb
And listening to the birds sing so fine—
He didn't notice how he'd gone so high
Up the pine tree, nearly touching the sky.
He started crying through the wood:
"However will I get down from here?
Or will I fall into the brush, I fear?
I'm a naughty cub, and I know I should."
He cried like that for an hour or two:
"Won't someone help me, please do!"
The animals ran past without a care:
"We've got no time for all this fuss and despair."
A magpie flew past overhead:
"Who wants the bother, I ask instead,
Of getting you down from way up there?
Where would we find the strength, I declare?"
Then little Mishka's mum arrived,
And all the drama came to an end.
She lifted him down from the tree, my friend,
And back to the den they both arrived.
Children, this tale has something to say,
A lesson for naughty cubs, I'd say:
Listen to your mum, don't misbehave,
So you won't cry and need to be saved.
