Eerie golden moon covered over
by murky cirrus clouds,
The grey owl’s hoot increasingly
gets loud.
Dark overcomes light,
Skittish he leaves his hole
and enters the night,
Knowing every shadow
could be the end.
Knowing in this forest
there is no friend,
heightened senses on edge -
for all their worth,
they are not enough...
Already standing hair,
moistened by its warm air,
So close he can smell its putrid breath,
Small window to run or accept the guarantee of death,
Run run rabbit.
Never admits defeat,
even with the beast at his feet,
To win is the only option
in this foot race.
Nipping at his heels with a rabid blood thirsty pace,
Salivating with the anticipation of him as its next meal,
The rabbits blood dripping through its gums as it rips every inch of flesh from bone to ensure the kill,
The only thought keeping this beast from becoming insanely ill,
So run run rabbit.
Every bite of air nips at your luck - keep running,
Swerving,
Focus,
Find the next hole to duck.