Wednesday, December 7, 2016

The Hare

SW France, 30 November 2016

Yet each man kills the thing he loves
I heard the poet cry
I stopped the breath of one who moves
In heaven’s all-seeing eye.

The morning bright, the meadow clear
Our mingled joy in life set fair
Some higher power placed us here
We breathed the same sweet air.

But guns in crooks of arms were cocked
Your heart near burst with fear
You bolted, tacked, I braked, I rocked
God help you, mad March hare.

Now our fates are interlocked
I tracked you at my shoulder
You turned away, for joy I leapt
But flicking back, I shudder.

I feel your weight, I know your beauty
You rode my dented car
I cannot think you less than me
Each knows the morning star.

Thus each man kills the thing he loves
I heard the poet cry
I stopped the breath of one who moves
In heaven's all-seeing eye.

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