Knut! Knut! Oh sweet Knut!
Rejected-at-the teat Knut!
Since Goldilocks first broke her chair,
a porridge-eating baby bear
can brighten up the dullest brute
our sunshine, solar bear Knut.
By plane and train, in ships and blimps
admirers flock to catch a glimpse:
what unbeliever could refute
the pulling power of cute Knut?
The fluffy face, the perky ears
can nullify the post-war years.
We’ll shelve our xenophobic peeves:
the sauerkraut-scoffing sunshade thieves
enthusiasts of regulation
have gained a new-found reputation;
for who can’t hold a squidgy spot
for soft Knut’s compatriots?
Oh wise Knut, it seems that you’re
the nation’s best ambassador.
Much-loved Knut, that you might be
like Amundsen’s loyal cub, Marie!
(Admittedly he killed his chum,
but don’t feel that should make you glum.)
For you, Knut, weren’t made that way:
you transcend species-based cliché.
Your smudge-black nose, your chubby paws:
what harm, Knut, could those things cause?
If you, Knut, were human, you
would put the seat down in the loo
and, if your paws could work the phone,
you’d call your friends who’re home alone.
I pray, one day, that all my dates can
share Knut’s consideration.