Rabbits Poem by Matt Mooney
Rabbits
In a secret field nesting on a hill,
Where time it seems is standing still,
A warren of little rabbits sleep:
In burrows very quiet they keep.
At evening on the grass they graze-
Not on lettuce leaves, their craze.
No shoes they wear on dewy grass,
Nor do they ever use a looking glass;
White tailed, furred without a pocket:
Can disappear as fast as any rocket.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/19/2024 5:38:08 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Poet, do you really know such a place where time stands still! Or, what do you want to make us communicate....would we have to be a white rabbit to get touch of that cool place! ! Beside all such questions, one thing is clear, at least entering the imagery of this writing, perhaps a little bit contact with such place as a reader we can get. And thank you for sharing such marvelous poem. Yes, time stands still inside the illusion of words. Regards, pranab 10+++