Bunny

In a lane of clover, under a clear blue sky,
A little bunny prances where the daffodils lie.
His ears twitch like flags on a bustling street,
And he hums a soft tune, a whisper of a spring beat.

With whiskers dappled, fine as old lace,
He darts through hedges, quick as a chase.
His paws leave tiny paw prints, neat and small,
A fleeting map of wonder across green, emerald grass.

The cold breeze weaves through the garden’s old oak,
Where the bunny pauses, awaiting the next hop’s arc.
The world hums softly, a quaint British tune,
As the bunny, in the dappled light, skips by the croon.

Beside the pond, he peeks at ripples bright,
And giggles softly, owning night and light.
So in that small moment, with a queasy hush,
The bunny, gentle and blissful, whispers back to a blush.