Beneath the brier patch
hidden from the sun
silent as a moonbeam
the rabbits race is run.
Fur and life are parted
breath has sighed its last
paws no longer drumming
death's grip is holding fast.
Once full of joy and sunshine
a scrap of pulsing life
now all joy and woe forgotten
gone happiness and strife.
Hear the blue flies a-buzzing
they greedily swarm and feast
death's ever dour attendants
they sanctify the beast.
