Hare stalks with his coffer
tethered fast around his waist.
A dragnet through the forest
with his hauls inside its chase,
of roses tumbled litany
in a dainty Arabesque.
Such a weight,
such a weight,
such a Waste.
He stumbles across some autumn fall,
and spots adder in the brush.
Who arcs his back and posits now
'my dear Hare why the rush?'.
Hare stares down with a pause yet
he hears not what was said,
then he's gone
yeah he's gone
he is gone.
Further in the woods he goes;
back aching ever more.
A bear then offers sanctuary,
and opens out his door.
'Hare that's such a heavy thing
why not let it go?'
but he can't,
but he can't,
but I can't.
His bones now paring out his furs
That has sodden in the rain.
Each step takes a hundred breathes,
and a thousand more refrains.
Owl says ' if you were a bird
would you not fly away?'
but I'm not
but I'm not
but I'm not
His spine curled back
and dragged him down,
as blood drained from his face.
A mottled paw thrown limply out,
and crawls barely a pace.
A deer comes past this laden
and offers hare a hand,
that he won't take,
he won't take,
why won't it take?
Clouds clot lonely in the sky,
Hare cannot move for mud.
His quaking legs let out a crack,
and with that he is done.
His koffer falls down to the way,
and bursts up the banks;
there is nothing there
but guilt that's pulling rank.
Hare’s last breath pushed out alone,
as the first that he had drawn.
He always thought he had it,
but when had he found it gone.