Lucky Rabbit
New Member
Greetings all,
I'd thought I'd toss out a few poems I wrote some years back after my Dutch bun, Payne, passed away. He was my first rabbit and a good fellow. Hope you all get something out of.
Take care,
Mark Kerley
www.LuckyRabbitStudio.com
Burrowed time
A leaf turned aside,
for a warm and fuzzy heart.
Scented onion grass,
and the chilled passing of Winter.
Soft nips and quick steps,
lead to the unveiling of Spring.
Tunnels run deep in earth's soil,
for the siring of small beating breaths.
All fluff and blind whiskers,
soon to grow and venture on.
Swift to age in Summer's sun
and again, a turning of a leaf.
Fall comes quiet, but swift,
trembling, crying in the night.
And the too soon passing
of a warm and fuzzy heart.
Cardboard box
I open the box, trying to touch him
through the plastic, slick and opaque,
hoping my touch will explain
why I wasnât there to save him.
The clock ticking endlessly,
not nearly enough time,
needing just one more moment,
one last touch to remember with.
Eyes closed, my fingers blindly search,
seeking warmth, a pulse, life kept within.
Somewhere,
it cannot have failed.
In despair I sigh,
bite my lip and withdraw my hand.
Tucking in the plastic, still thankfully opaque,
I close the box and let him go.
I'd thought I'd toss out a few poems I wrote some years back after my Dutch bun, Payne, passed away. He was my first rabbit and a good fellow. Hope you all get something out of.
Take care,
Mark Kerley
www.LuckyRabbitStudio.com
Burrowed time
A leaf turned aside,
for a warm and fuzzy heart.
Scented onion grass,
and the chilled passing of Winter.
Soft nips and quick steps,
lead to the unveiling of Spring.
Tunnels run deep in earth's soil,
for the siring of small beating breaths.
All fluff and blind whiskers,
soon to grow and venture on.
Swift to age in Summer's sun
and again, a turning of a leaf.
Fall comes quiet, but swift,
trembling, crying in the night.
And the too soon passing
of a warm and fuzzy heart.
Cardboard box
I open the box, trying to touch him
through the plastic, slick and opaque,
hoping my touch will explain
why I wasnât there to save him.
The clock ticking endlessly,
not nearly enough time,
needing just one more moment,
one last touch to remember with.
Eyes closed, my fingers blindly search,
seeking warmth, a pulse, life kept within.
Somewhere,
it cannot have failed.
In despair I sigh,
bite my lip and withdraw my hand.
Tucking in the plastic, still thankfully opaque,
I close the box and let him go.
