Be it 

Are the mother polar bears howling for their young? Oh, where have thou young’eth fled? Their Cubs, just wee little fella’s, escaped the frozen tundra, under their wandrous little paws they had fled. 

Are the mother polar bears crying for their young? Oh, they’ve been lost many moons, and still with every last breath they howl to the moon, their breaking voice praying to the clouds. 

“They are lost, they are lost,” she cried, “will they ever come back?”

There in a distance, huddled beneath broken ground, in sand, orphaned but now alone again. Her dirty white fur mangled, blood hid behind her ears, she bit away the grief of never finding her ma again.

A cry, a damn near cry shrieked from the heavens, was it her? She opened her eyes, a painful light leaked into her- shone from within out,

She opened her eyes, and her ma stood there, glistening eyes and that warm smile, “you are home again, my Dear.”

“Oh, Ma!” The young cub cried. 

I was home again. 

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