There once was a girl with golden hair,

Who wandered the woods to a den of bear,

And plopped herself down to try a chair.

Three sofas sat, carefully arranged,

Testing the comfort of a girl deranged.

The first too big and the second as well,

But the third, she found, was rather swell.

But here, I fear, is where it’s confounding,

For her delusional state is rather astounding,

No chair would sit with woods surrounding.

But if, as I think, you’re not yet persuaded,

Perhaps you should know there’s more the girl raided.

For next she went to find some soup,

And here you’ll see a twist in the coup.

Three bowls sat, fresh from the pot,

The first two she found were far too hot,

But the baby’s bowl, she like a lot.

Now examine this for it needs to be seen,

What kind of bear, on cooking is keen?

What strange grizzly prepares a dish,

When much more prone to catch live fish?

Now it’s been proven she’s psychogenic,

And my guess is she’s schizophrenic,

Certainly hallucinogenic.

For next she went to rest her head,

And what strange kind of bear lies in a bed?

The first was as hard as a cinder block,

The second as soft as a cotton smock.

In the child’s bed she finally slumbered,

Dreamt of dreams unencumbered,

And awoke to imagine she was outnumbered.

Three bears hovered, plump and ferocious,

Goldilocks found them rather atrocious.

She jumped out of bed and ran away,

To baby bear’s great dismay.

By now you see the evidence is clear,

The child’s behavior is extremely queer,

I must conclude it’s rather severe.

But if you still think I’m accusatory,

Perhaps you should hear the end to this story.

For three long days, she was thought to be dead,

Only to be found locked in a shed.

Starved and weak, her golden locks tangled,

She ranted and raved, with ghosts she wrangled,

As over the edge, her sanity dangled.

She spoke of the bears and their home in the trees,

As her parents watched on with a growing unease.

For no woods were found for a very long distance,

And the girl ranted on in a frail persistence.

Now perhaps it’s the fault of a rogue gene,

Or maybe an environment unserene,

But get that girl some clozapine.

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