In a snowy forest, deep and wide,
Where frost-kissed pines and dreams abide,
Lived a bear named Benedict, warm and sweet,
With cinnamon scent, a magical treat.
The snow began to softly fall,
A quiet hush blanketed all.
From his hollow, snug and bright,
Benedict stepped into the night.
With honeyed tea and a twinkling eye,
He greeted the winter’s starry sky.
“Come one, come all, let’s chase the cold,
With tales and dances brave and bold.”
The creatures gathered, small and shy,
Under the trees where snowflakes fly.
Foxes, squirrels, and owls took part,
Drawn by the warmth of Benedict’s heart.
“Come close, dear friends, don’t be afraid,
Let’s waltz beneath this frosty glade.”
He clapped his paws, and to their surprise,
The snow began to dance in the skies.
The trees swayed gently, the stars did gleam,
As Benedict’s stories flowed like a dream.
Tales of courage, kindness, and cheer,
Melted away their winter fear.
As Benedict spun, the cold withdrew,
Frost turned silver, the world anew.
The critters laughed, their hearts alight,
In the magic glow of the cinnamon night.
“The snow may fall, but so do we rise,
Winter’s beauty hides in disguise.”
With every twirl, his scent did spread,
Of cinnamon warmth where joy was bred.
The night grew still, the waltz complete,
But Benedict’s warmth stayed strong and sweet.
He hugged each critter, big and small,
And wished them sweet dreams, one and all.
Back to his hollow, with fire’s soft glow,
He drifted to sleep as the forest did know:
“Whenever snow falls, wherever it’s cold,
Benedict’s magic makes winter gold.”