The Bear Not There

A madness in the forest fair,
I see the bear that isn't there.

How weird to hear in every breeze
the bear come romping through the trees.

In weeds and brush I feel the touch
of bear and claw I fear so much.

When damp and dark I smell her breath;
the bear seems close and so does death.

And then I run in greatest haste
before the bear my flesh does taste.

When I return to that same spot
the bear is there, though she is not.