Up on the polar ice,
A family looms.
Their beautiful snowy coats
Glistening
In the small sunlight left.
Soon the icy winter
Will pull through.

The cubs snuggle
Against their mother,
Huge in comparison
To their minuscule bodies.

Her coat—
Now a dirty blonde
Heavy, cold, and wet
Is specked with tiny dirt flecks.

Adorable balls of fur,
Newborns,
Blend in with the snow.
Their pure white coats
Blinding in the sun.

Mother is working
Slowly, tiredly
It is almost wintertime.
The two cubs,
Curious,
Peek from behind
Her furry legs,
Twice their size.
A gaping, cozy hole
Awaits their probing eyes.
The den is done.

With a soft purr,
She urges them,
Patiently,
Into their new home.
Only for the long winter
She promises.
She collapses,
Exhaustedly,
With a drawn out grunt.
The cubs glance,
Concerned
But she assures them
All is well.

They sniff around
But finding nothing
Worth their interest
Progress to lay
Quietly at their soft
Mother’s side
And slowly fall
Into deep sleep
That is hibernation,
Up on the polar ice.