The Bunny

Brown bunny sits inside his burrow

Till everything is still,

Then out he slips along the furrow,

Or up the grassy hill.

He nibbles all about the bushes,

Or sits to wash his face,

But at a sound he stamps and rushes

At a surprising pace.

You see some little streaks and flashes,

A last sharp twink of white,

And down his hidey-hole he dashes

And disappears from sight. (~Edith King)

(Searching for bunny the next morning - I told her he must be taking a nap...)