by Nikki McBride Spencer
Please enjoy the following delightful poem; I did, and it made my day.
There’s a bunny in the bougainvillea,
I saw him go;
Just a lil guy, a
handful of rabbit, or two
I watch him strain his young neck for the dried
a mere inch from his reach
And his ears strain to and fro
at once tries to chew as bunnies chew
and not become dinner.
of stew, lil wabbit
Which is funny, you know, because
We don't eat rabbit
One look at your bright eyes and I can feel
your hind legs upon my
wrists like mad
As I picked you up by the ears -
How could I treat you like your mortal enemy
the hawk would,
straining at life as you do?
Could I wring that little neck of yours without
some stripes of me own
Pretty brown thing with a cottonball at
your bum, you look more like a wren
or a sparrow,
tense and twitching,
flight at every sound, blending in with the earth
and the sparseness of brush
you chew on, munching with that ever-twitching muzzle - I see why
You're so rabbit. From every tale.
Could I ever hurt
you, you who act so much like prey?
And now seeing it’s you instead of the
gophers casting up mounds under
I am still and watch you
instead of being annoyed, and think
How precious, bunnies here?
occurs to me ironically the "damage" is still done, and,
I don't have the
heart to eat you.
It appears I'm out of the loop
of the life
May 27 2012