“The Hare”, a poem by Dan in dedication to NorrRRRrrrRRrr the hare, of Belgium
The hare sits there, the wolves prowl
The hare is silent; the wolves howl
The foxes run swift, hungry growls the bear—
Warm tasty hare smells good in cold air
The hare has a lair, not here, elsewhere…
If the hare could pray, he would utter a prayer
If the hare could swear, then swear would the hare
But the hare is prey, and prey’s prayer is a dare
The hare’s nostrils flare (which is how hares swear)
Boldly he leaps through the cold autumn air!
Quick is the hare! But will he get there?
A hare’s existence is hope and despair
There rises a wind as pursued runs the hare
There blares a horn, and the wolves cry in ire
They see their prey, and ahead, walls of fire
And the hare’s leaping strides take him there.
the hare, she
runs into the fire,
the fire,
it takes her,
she is not burned
the hare
leaps into the fire
the fire,
it loves her,
she is free
And now it is raining, and no one is there
Except for the hare as careful as ever
The rain is a friend, it drowns the pain
Of smelling delicious in the cold autumn air
The hare is there and so is the rain
But some of the others won't rise again
The howlers, the prowlers had better beware
The courage and daring of a scared white hare…
