Old Ted Poem by Norman E Dale

He sits alone upon his bed,
his aging fur threadbare.
I've always called him just old Ted,
cos he was always there.

He wiped my eyes when there were tears,
yet never moaned, or frowned.
He held my hand through childhood fears,
he was good to have around.

He'd be there with his knowing look
and an enigmatic smile,
He taught me more that any book,
about patience, poise and style.

He watched them as they'd come and go,
the toys, the girls, the years,
but through it all, he never showed,
bad temper, stress nor tears.

Now he is old and I am grown,
he still waits upon his bed,
the bravest, loyalest bear I've known,
my bestest friend 'Old Ted'