Hark! What light through yonder icefield breaks? It is the North, and Bipolar Bear doth seek to partake, In the grand assembly of thespian lore, To tread the boards where the bright spotlights soar.
In soliloquy’s embrace, he finds his call, To be or not to be, he muses, paws 'pon the snowball. With dreams as vast as the arctic skies, He yearns for the stage where his heart lies.
A bear so bold, with fur so fair, Amidst the shimmering aurora's air, His voice doth echo through the frozen glade, An actor’s soul in ursine masquerade.
He speaks, the icebergs quake and quiver, With every growl, a poignant shiver. In verse and prose, his tales he weaves, Of arctic nights and autumn’s eves.
“To play each part with noble zest, To face the crowd with a gallant chest, To roar with grief, with joy to jest, In acting's fire, I shall invest.”
No forest den could hold his dreams, Nor polar chill suppress his themes. With each recital, his spirit gleams, A bear not as he seems.
For in his heart, a fervent flame, Kindled by Shakespeare's hallowed name. A wish to rise to fabled fame, In the art of drama’s sacred game.
With passioned force, he doth rehearse, Each line imbued with the power of verse. The curtain calls, his cue to immerse, In the role he shall traverse.
Let every bear and creature know, Bipolar Bear’s illustrious show. He'll strut and fret his hour, aglow, Upon life’s stage, ‘neath the moon’s bow.
Anon, fair bear, chase thine ambition, With thespian ardour, and unfettered condition. For in thy pursuit, there lies a vision, A bear transformed by dramatic mission.
So let the stars their witness bear, Of a polar dreamer’s solstice prayer. Bipolar Bear, without compare, The stage awaits, thy talent rare.