November and the rabbit
gone to ground, no
more to be seen,
his haste evident in
the white flash of fur
down the burrow
evading the ferret, so
he lives another day to
blink and twitch in his
rabbity fashion,
endearing, so
on a picture-postcard
of Easter yet to come
meanwhile, the bare branches switch
at the sky, thrashing as if
enraged at their annual disrobing
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