At the mouth of the river where tall grasses grow,
Where no hunter hunts with hounds nor bugles blow,
Where the carefreeness of life lets rabbits roll -
My thoughts go scampering softly down a rabbit hole.
And there they crouch where one with silver knife
Prods them into submissive shape and waits
To cut the gay blue carefreeness of life
Into a vicious haze of pain and hate.
Then with smiling red eyes and silver teeth they go,
My thoughts, to where the tall green grasses grow;
And hurling forward with a savage scream
They shock the rabbits from their rolling dream.
A flurry of frightened faces in the river:
My thoughts are mad with red and silver teeth,
And mad as frightened faces shiver
And swirl toward their sudden death.
Tan Pratonix
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/rabbits-3/