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It was early in the morning,
the forest never had seen
so much and such yellow fog.
The little rabbit had arrived,
back in familiar territory
after the wildest chase
through phallus grass, across
an unfriendly, frigid creek
all to get away from one mean fox.
Three-legged he had been,
but faster than a speeding bullet,
as rabbits are fond of saying,
almost, it came that close.
But now he felt free again,
breathed so much easier and rested.
One more real road to cross
and he would be home with
the gang of seven, though,
there would be trouble from Dad,
he hadn't been allowed to wander
and explore, that would come later
Mom had said. In Spring perhaps.
He shuddered, thinking of the old Hare,
he would give almost anything,
so he told his God about it, please
if you would be so kind, do spare me
that awful punishment, I am prepared
to sacrifice whatever it may take.
And God did listen as he always does.
A jogger could be heard, then seen,
hugging the garden fences, he was huffing,
so little rabbit -to avoid him- hit the street
and crossed with anxious little legs
and half-closed eyes. There was a BANG,
and all his troubles had been solved,
the driver swore about the dented Skoda
while rhythmically, the runner made his way
toward the town, but was too tired now to look.
Herbert Nehrlich
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