You hear the name and right away
You feel snow and fur caps
Pulled over long, dark hair,
A foreign accent and lonesome
Miles of tundra, barren and cold.
You listen to the story and your breath
Comes out white clouds of frost.
You can’t imagine the innocence,
The heartbreak in being naive,
And you want desperately
A happy ending, a Bullwinkle
Come to the rescue, but not this,
This boy standing before you,
This one so earnestly preaching
The virtues of giving to friends
In need, answering the call
With the last of his summer money.
You know then and there he’s just a boy
With a moose of a heart, and secretly, 
Oh so secretly, you’re glad he is what he is.
Not a Boris in sight.