The rabbit ran
The car careered on
Night blacked out the way
To see the rabbit gone;
But only after flesh had writhed
Exposed inside a twilight world
Where death betrays the state
Romanticism doesn’t play a part
In death for the rabbit –
Such plays the oddity of human minds
That we would tell it in a poem.
Here comes a fox –
For life depends on death.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011