The Rabbits’ Yard. A poem.

This yard is an Elysian Field.

Where once they sneaked
Like rogues into a lion’s den,
Now they parade before the sun
With no fear of molten wax.

Well-worn trails, scented scorn,
Marking passages with contempt.
Reassurance and arrogance
Threaten to subjugate
The hallowed ground
In which they stir.

And yet:

Indolent bodies gathered,
Reclining in noon beams;
Diminutive masters
Of all they survey.
Here in an Eden,
Free from regret
And erstwhile evil,

They bring forth a smile
And a long absent tear
As I long for a place
Just as peaceful.

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