The cover never tells the truth,
          for every story... has papercuts
when you've turned the page.
             Every fable can tell a tale,
some sweet as pie, but not all apples are
syrupy, some putrefy from the core.

For this cover shows her reading,
while rabbits playfully play.
   Not one for ill suspense..

The book was different ways to
          cook rabbit, she knew they
attended this spot.
              Know your pray,
          Remember that to be at ease
gives them a false sense of passivity.

Now when your ready, make your move..
  
The best practice is to scare, for a moment of
uncertainty will make then scatter in directions
                                                    not uniformed..

With that she slammed the books pages together,
    startled bunnies ran in all directions...
The ground around sewn with steel teeth
awaiting
        gentle steps to snap shut...

She stood up proud, that the book was true,
     not all tales are fairy tales some are truthful.
As a few were still squirming, she did an act
of kindness,  the book heavy as it came down.

The family will feed well tonight,
  she had to wipe off the fur
but there were plenty more stories
of  how to capture and create
                                          that fairy tale meal..

Under the pale blue sky
A small bird chirps softly as it watches the world go by.
Soft green grasses wave in the breeze
As the rose's heavy perfume tickles my nose and makes me sneeze.
Your eyes dart toward me, a dashing golden hue
And I stand stalk still to study you.
Long ears flick back and forth, covered in waves of silk
And I can make out a small cotton tail the color of buttermilk.
You glance over your shoulder, wide eyes studying me
before you spring across the meadow, happily free.

Louis: ‘There’s something about shooting that makes a man feel fully alive.’
Anne: ‘Unlike the birds I suppose.’
Louis: ‘They’re born to be shot, my dear. Like rabbits...and poets.’

When I was a child I thought about wind.
Where did it come from, how did it begin?
Was it caused, at all, by the waving of the trees?
Was the waving of the trees, caused by the breeze?

I still to this day, remember thinking many things.
As a child my mind pondered, how do birds use their wings?
How and why, do rabbits hop,
Why do fish swim and firecrackers pop?

Ants are plum crazy, how they dig in the dirt,
I wear my pants but my sister wears a skirt?
Why does it rain and why are you sad?
Does the light switch frighten away all the bad?

Now that I’m older I still think alot.
The problem now seems...  oh ****, I forgot!

Brian Hill - 2019 - February
Inspired by the mind of my young brain..