A Rabbit Passes. A prose poem.

The rabbit’s body is stiff and heavy in my hand. I wrap it in its funeral trappings, a plastic cloak as light and airy as its existence. It’s family lies in burrows deep below, the farmer’s poison dried within withered veins. I place it within its casket, a waste bin its solemn ferry to where its family’s souls gently sleep.

There was a family of rabbits that lived next door. The guy there has chickens and sheep, so it was only a matter of time before he took steps to bait them. For a while that happy family of rabbits was something for me to look forward to each morning and evening, when they would enter my backyard to feed. 

Now they’re a reminder that not everything lasts forever, a sad metaphor for the briefness of our lives and the need to achieve what we can now, before our own time runs out.

Steve

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