I write poetry when bored.
This is satire by form, sincere by content.
I love my rabbit.

Ode to a Small Furry Animal that Lives in my Kitchen

O small brown kitchen rabbit, there you go thump,
Now you run, claws quickly clicking, turning a corner,
Sliding over slippery tiles, bouncing off with a bump,

This is how you chase me around the table,
Something rabbits are really not supposed to do,
Doing something more than a rabbit is able.

A noble beast you are not, yet full of life
And joy in all that surrounds you, you hop
With a mind as sharp as a butter knife.

Yet I envy you, as it were, for as many
Troubles as I hold, you with your single minded
Joy, are completely unburdened by any.

Oh to be a rabbit, worry free, very fluffy, small,
Admittedly rather dumb, but minding not at all.

A triumph you have made, knocking over the pot,
Spilling Rhea’s own earth upon the floor.
My mother chases, but you refuse to be caught.

The plant that lived in the pot met its end
By an adorable little snout, pink hare lip
Quivers, soon the little belly will distend.

What the parsley plant did to deserve this
Fate I shall never know, for once nibbled
Into little bits, it entered the plant abyss.

Such small triumphs are enough to make the day
Of my now lazy little rabbit. He has
An easy life, pampered in every way.

Oh to be a rabbit, worry free, very fluffy, small,
Admittedly rather dumb, but minding not at all.