We Go So Fur

You’re so much artificial fur. You, little bear, do not communicate, not a word, not a single utterance. Yet I speak to you, tap your nose, pat your head - gently, of course. I call you Mr Titch - yes, a name! You have been at table with me, sitting in a bar, I with others. Should I have said we? Yes, we were with others, yes we. Now I watch, almost mischievously. I observe with a slightly naughty eye. Each pal will pat your nose, tap your head, smile at you. Yet you are so much artificial fur. (21 Aug 2024)