The Teddy Bears of Stryiskyi Park

By Matthew Parish

Monday 24 August 2026

Down in Stryiskyi Park, where the tall pines sway,

The teddy bears wake at the end of the day.

They button their waistcoats and straighten their hats,

Then wander outside for some bearly chit-chats.

There’s Boris the Baker, who bakes honey pies,

And Misha, who watches the clouds in the skies.

There’s Katya, who fishes (but never catches),

And Sasha, who wears two completely odd patches.

Their house by the river is crooked and brown,

With a chimney that wobbles whenever bears frown.

The windows are golden, the floorboards all creak,

And somebody’s lost all the spoons for a week.

Beside it there stands, underneath a pine tree,

The Teddy Bear Shisha Bar — cosy as can be.

The grown-up bears gather when daylight grows dim,

While fireflies dance by the riverbank’s rim.

They puff on their shishas and sip foaming beer,

And tell dreadful jokes that get worse every year.

“Why did the bear put his boots in the stew?”

Nobody knows — but they laugh anyway too.

One bear plays accordion, one plays guitar,

One claims he once travelled astonishingly far.

“I’ve been beyond Lviv! I’ve been over that hill!”

The others cry, “Nonsense!” — but buy him beer still.

The younger bears tumble and roll through the grass,

They race little boats and watch dragonflies pass.

They hunt for pinecones, play hide-and-go-seek,

Then fall in the river at least twice a week.

And deep in the woods, when the moon has climbed high,

Their lanterns shine gold beneath Ukraine’s dark sky.

The river runs softly, the pine branches stir,

And sleepy bears snuggle in blankets of fur.

So next time you wander through Stryiskyi Park,

And hear a strange giggle somewhere in the dark,

Don’t hurry away and don’t make a fuss —

Just follow the lanterns and whisper:

“Save a chair for us!”