A Hare’s Nightmare


Sweet sounds surround the sleeping hare
who rests within the thicket there.
Beneath the prickly vines, his bower,
his dreams soon blossom as a flower.

Warm, he suckles his mother’s milk,
her fur, to him, the softest silk.
Strong, he runs through plenteous field,
and to no terror must he yield.

What wanton enterprise, to dream,
so quick it is to change a scene,
and pleasant thoughts might soon grow sour
before the passing of an hour.

Flight from beasts on every side,
he runs his circuit fearful eyed.
Jaws do snatch him from the ground,
and so he’s shaken by the hound.

Restless is the sleeping hare
who starts, waking to cold night air.
He shivers and begins to cower.
So ends the dream and its strange power.

1 Comment

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.