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.