The Bear met with the Groundhog on a murky day last year;
they brought along some weasels and a stuffy brigadier.
The Bear disliked the table and the Groundhog said the chairs
were scarcely ergonomic and were mussing up his hairs.
While shuffling their papers they sent out for Perrier,
and made sure that the video put them on full display.
They huddled with advisers and signed book deals by the score;
they bandied words with Oprah about some Crimean War.
And when the staff was ready and the room was hushed and still,
they glared at one another till the place filled up with krill.
While huffing and then puffing, with a growl or two for show,
these stubborn creatures made a job completely out of snow.
The media swooped in for quotes; the Bear and Badger beamed.
They all sat down to dinner -- of baloney lightly steamed.
Another conference was unnecessary, so they said;
for they had made their point now, having lots of good street cred.
The meeting broke up quickly, while the situation stayed
about the same as always -- just a dreary cavalcade.
Perhaps they'll meet again next year; perhaps the sun will chill.
Perhaps the world will self-destruct, or take another pill.
The Badger and the Bear remain unruffled by it all.
They're signing copies of their books down at the shopping mall.
And little children pray for peace; and many widows sigh --
and no one seems to care at all how many men will die.
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