The Hare Poem by Sheena Blackhall

The hare ran fast through Blueberry Wood
Quick as a river flowing
The sun was warm and the land was good
Now was the time for growing

The hare thumped hardy heels on the ground
The mad March wind was blowing
The flame of sex burned in his blood
Now was the time for sowing

Autumn set the leaves to the torch
Her fruits to the Fall bestowing
The hare ran wet on the stibble park
Now was the time for mowing

Winter came to Blueberry Wood
In the cold the ravens crowing
The frosted hare lay softly down
All of the world was snowing