the rabbit chase

Hop along, hop hop
come along, clip clop
see how i can
jump across this stream
see how i
swing on this branch
come, give your hand
you too can do it
jump, one two
swing three four
there you go boy,
now let’s dance

That’s what she used
to say, her white hair
swishing wet with
her dazzling smile
that she gave me
while shaking herself
dry from one of her
unlucky jumps across the
stream.
I loved her, loved that rabbit
I loved chasing her down
and tussling with her.
Her nose wrinkling
up in a way only she
could wrinkle it
and still make you laugh.
You should’ve seen her
nibble away at the food
making a wayward remark
after every bite.

She seemed to fleet from
subject to subject,
sparkling with enthusiasm
at one sentence and lost
herself completely
at another. Well, she
was a rabbit after all.
I still loved that rabbit.
That was part
of her allure

Somewhere along the
way, I must’ve missed it
or I wasn’t looking,
she must’ve swung one
branch too high
or flung across
a stream somewhat wide
or nibbled away all
her wayward comments,
for she does not
sparkle any more
or enthuse, or entice
She sits in her corner
even her hair has
seemed to let her down,
for they don’t swish
any more, probably because
they’re not wet anymore.

I still see
that charm, that allure
I miss that rabbit,
the one that saw
everything in her
path as something
to jump across or
swing by.
I’d love to chase her
down and do a tussle
one more time
and to take an unfortunate
dip in one of
her streams before
I myself become gray and rabid
and have no desire or strength
to chase after other rabbits.

I still love that
rabbit.
It’s probably the
way we go,
all white rabbit hairs
must turn gray
one day.
But I’ll still see
hers as white,
that is how I’ll
always remember that rabbit.

-by Lex Lapax (03/17/2004)
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