By James C Horner

What’s Old Bear got to worry about?

What’s Burning Tiger so angry for?

What’s Mama Deer afraid of?

What’s Whooping Crane so sad about?

What’s that Curious Monkey so joyful of?

 

O Bear, I should be so rooted.

O Tiger, I could use your glaring eyes.

O Deer, I should be so poised.

O Crane, I could be so carefree.

O Monkey, I should be so playful.

 

When I get bent out of shape,

I’ll become the Bear,

reach up the tree,

and rake my claws down.

 

When I lose my cool,

I’ll twist down,

rest and watch for prey,

ready to spring.

 

When I want to fight or flee,

I’ll stand still,

listen,

breathe.

 

When I’m bummed I’ve lost a few steps,

I’ll stand on one leg,

part the curtain of gloom,

fly.

 

When I’m rushing around like a monkey,

I’ll capture the joy of a peach,

offer you, my reader, the fruit of heaven,

with the flickering flame of my heart.