A meekly hare named Carson’s small and young
But full of awe. Unlike his harish peers,
In Seashore’s verdant grass he sits among
A grove of trees with books from ancient years.
Within his volume, Carson reads a myth
Of gods and how the folk from beasts arose.
With eager eyes he scans the pages’ width
And timeless wisdom found in words he knows.
He reads within creation's cosmic womb
Are gods of heaven, ocean, flame and stone.
The leafage, pelage, scales and every plume
Of plants and beasts are born from them alone.
Although the gods made plants and beasts with mirth,
They yearned for folk to dance upon the ground.
Amongst the shade of trees with awesome girth,
They carved from wood the folk with forms renowned.
Through vital breath and words with daring charms,
They put inside their forms the means to feel;
With legs to run and hands on sturdy arms,
They’re made to love and learn with grace and zeal.
Cement and metal, Carson thought, does frame
The world – as cunning beasts were framed from wood.
Electric veins do course in towns as flame
Ignited lamps where gifted people stood.
In every manner skillful folk can strive,
Advanced machines are made through fiscal gains;
United cunning beasts will surely thrive –
Through towers, nimble cars, and skyward planes.
Beneath the shade of trees with sacred wood,
A group of men near Carson finds his spot.
Among the hares, brash Vincent says, “What good
Are books when greater strength is sought?”
The youthful Vincent puffs his harish chest -
His longer ears are far above his group.
While Carson sits and reads his tomes at rest,
He gazes up at Vincent’s loyal troupe.
As brazen, brawny hares of three agree
With Vincent, Carson speaks behind his book.
“There's much to love beneath this verdant tree
And more to see for those that want to look.”
“I doubt that highly” Vincent says with haste.
“It’s only strength that counts with awesome skill.
Your flights of fancy offer only waste.”
His restless group departs towards the hill.
The clime improves in time and welcomes lust
As Vincent’s heart to her is surely drawn –
As Lauren named, it’s him he hopes she’ll trust.
His friends at other gals are apt to fawn.
This boorish, brawny group of hares as men
Cannot achieve their goals with ladies meek.
Their strength and speed will not increase their ken,
Their charm or wit they lack in how they speak.
Despite their paltry work with love in spring,
They cannot find a way to trick the gals;
They cannot find a single gift or thing
To urge the gals to prize their hapless pals.
“The gentle soul you like to irk and nag
Has snagged a truly lovely, savvy mate”
The lovely Lauren says. “You always brag
Of brawn but never have the depth to date.”
“Perhaps your luck might change with more than clime
And rousing sport to fill the lines of text
In every message sent to gals through time.
Here’s hoping growth and change for you is next.”
Near benches grumbling Vincent sits alone
While Lauren’s joined by John – a man with class
That strolls along with roses that he’s shown;
The grove of trees and hills they slowly pass.
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