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.