In the bright, bustling town of Tickleberry Glen,Lived Bumble the Bear in a quiet wood den.He hummed as he planted, as calm as the breeze,While others buzzed by with their drama disease.

One day, Zips the Squirrel, all twitchy and wild,Came sprinting up shouting, “You’ve been reviled!Chirpy the Bird’s been squawking all day,Spreading mean stories in a nasty old way!”

Bumble looked up, scratched his chin real slow,“Oh really? That so? Hmm. I’ll let it go.”

But the next day, Zips came bounding again,With gossip and rumors that fell like rain.“He’s called you a doofus! A log-headed lump!He says you’re too slow, a big, lazy clump!”

Bumble blinked twice, then gave a small grin,“Time to do something,” he said with a spin.

“Bring me a rake, a hoe, and a pail.We’ll fix this for good without going to jail.”

Zips zoomed off and brought tools in a sack—Expecting a showdown or fierce counterattack.But Bumble just waddled to his garden with pride,And started to weed with Zips at his side.

“Wait… that’s it?” Zips squeaked with dismay.“You’re not gonna yell or throw mud his way?”

Bumble looked up with a smile and a shrug,“Nah, let him chirp. Let him flutter and bug.See, I’ve got tomatoes to plant, dreams to grow,And I won’t waste time on a bird and his show.”

“Some folks are born to squawk and complain,To ruffle your feathers and peck at your brain.But me? I’m a builder. I sow and I reap.And I sleep like a baby when I go to sleep.”

Moral of the Glen:There’ll always be Chirpys, loud in the air,Flapping about with rumors to share.But be like Bumble—calm, wise, and stout.Let your work speak loud and tune nonsense out.You’re not here to battle every bird on a wire—You’re here to grow gardens and climb something higher.