Jack rabbit reached his peak At the grand old age of three Leaping past the other young bucks Ascending the summit of hierarchy Yet these heights weren’t high enough for young Jack A propitious visionary Jack had a knack for selling dreams To the rest of the colony He imagined a life for his fluffle With machines that would do all the work From the base of their lowly warrens They would build skyscrapers that towered on earth The zenith of civilisation They need live in the dirt no more Open clean spaces, safe from fox chases All they need do is to open the door He painted a picture that stoked a fire In the depths of the rabbits below More time to spend with loved ones More space to watch them grow Less toil to break their backs More freedom for them to choose Who would stand in the way of such progress? he asked, What have you got to lose? So the rabbits brought into being The dreams that lived in young Jack’s mind’s eye The machines came first then the buildings Rising higher and higher up to the sky But no matter how tall the structure It was always too short for young Jack Time ticked by in the comfort of the sky But Jack’s vision was fading to black Safe and sound in a trap of his making It hit Jack like a ton of bricks In chasing the sky he’d forgotten What it is that makes rabbits tick He itched for the feel of the dirt The satisfaction of a job well done The hubbub and chat of the tunnels Days that were shared with every one Together the rabbits painted a picture Of where they should go from here They gifted the high-rise to nesting birds Returned to their place in the bio-sphere Kept their machines to help with the digging Gained more time for play and rest But never again forgot the traditions Of the life that suits a rabbit best. And what of Jack and his seat at the top? He had found it a lonely place to be Now in harmony with the herd He grew into age with community.
There’s been a rabbit in my garden for a while and I’ve been meaning to write about him/her but nothing was forthcoming. This weekend I set the intention to pen the rabbits poem, et voila. The magic of creativity never gets old.