A. Barto "The Bad Little Bear-Cub"

Mrs. Bruin had a son?

One I'd wish to anyone,

Like his mother to a hair,

Every inch of him a bear.

From the heat beneath a tree

Mother Bear would hide?

And sure enough young Sonny Bear

Would huddle by her side.

He'd trip up on a root, he would.

"Poor dear", crooned Mother Bear.

Indeed, my friends, in all the wood

Yet Mrs. Bruin's young sonny

Broke all the rules and laws.

One day he found some honey

And ate with dirty paws!

His mother scolded:

"Naughty brat,

You mustn't grab

Your food like that!"

But Master Bear just gobbled on

And choked,

And coughed,

And spat.

His face became all clammy,

His fur began to stick -

A good day's work for Mammy

To clean, and smooth, and lick.

When Mum and Dad sat down to chat

He'd start a noisy squawking.

Now, ought a cub behave like that

When grown-up bears are talking?

The bear-cub, coming home one day,

Climbed first into the lair,

And that instead of giving way

The other day he stayed away

Till dark, the dreadful lad,

And came with fur all full of hay,

A sight to make one mad.

He said without a trace of shame:

"We had a lovely, lovely game."

Says Ma: "His manners made me weep.

He roars all night, won't let us sleep."

He'll drive his mother crazy.

It's much too much to bear.

They went to see Aunt Maisie.

The same old story there:

He bit his Auntie on the knee

All that week his mother fretted

And her pampering regretted.

"Oh dear me, I've spoiled the child:

Now he's simply running wild!"

She went and asked her husband,

(As if he really knew!)

"Our son is getting worse and worse.

Please tell me what to do."

"He doesn't know what's right or wrong.

He's robbing birds' nests all along.

He's always making faces,

Bruin answered with a roar,

"Why am I to blame?

What is a bear-cum mother for

If she can't make him tame?

"The rascal's got a mother,

And she's the one to bother."

But soon the culprit got so bad

He raised his paw against his Dad.

Just think of it - a cub should dare

The father with an angry grunt

Picked up a hefty stick.

(It seemed, his off-spring's latest stunt

Had cut him to the quick!)

Here Mother started whimpering:

"Oh, I can't bear the sight!

Why, it's an outrage, honestly,

Threshing such a mite!"

While quarrels

Tore the family

The son grew up

Unmannerly.

Though odd this tale may seem to you.

I've often heard it said

That sometimes among children, too,