Songbirds chirped, time to rise,
Papa rolled from bed.
His tummy rumbled, his wife's asleep,
"Wake-up sleepy head."
Her eyes popped open, she groaned aloud,
Then out of bed she flew.
"Wake up Junior," she announced.
"I'll go and make some stew."
"Hmmm," said Papa, salivating.
"That will hit the spot."
So off he padded down the hall,
To waken sleeping tot.
A whiffling snore, greeted Pop,
As he tiptoed to his tyke.
"Your mama's making lunch my son,
But first let's take a hike."
Junior stretched, moaned and sniffed,
Detecting floral bloom.
Sunlight streamed through window pane,
Long gone winter's gloom.
"We shan't go far, oh Papa dear,
For strangers roam these woods.
Some might steal a gulp of stew,
Or break my chair, they could."
He scooped up Junior to his feet,
And tousled Junior's head.
"Don't worry son, our home's secure,
Now hurry, make your bed."
"But Papa," whimpered little cub,
"How 'bout a wily fox?"
"Our doors are safe, I know 'tis true,
I installed golden locks."
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