The other day, I found a rabbit that had been killed by a car. I needed to write about it. Please forgive the formatting…Wordpress is being an arse and not formatting it how I had it laid out in the original document. *Sigh.*
Hushed By The Kirbside
Rabbit, what happened
to your beautiful eye?
The eye you didn’t need to close
to sleep, the eye that gave you
better vision than me?
Was it a crow or a gull or a magpie
that plucked it out as you lay
hushed by the kerbside?
The socket where it was fixed
is slick with blood,
but your coat is unspoiled.
The other eye
is pressed against warm asphalt.
You’re lying like you’ve
been caught unexpectedly
midway through a jig.
You must be young,
not long from the nest.
Time has not had opportunity
to turn your ears and coat tatty.
A car passes, slows, driver curious,
they don’t know why I crouch.
They move on.
I move on.
The following day,
I can’t find you.
Perhaps a fox took you home
below ground, swallowed you up,
gave you back to the earth.
Or perhaps someone thought you looked
too exquisite not to be resurrected,
and gently put you in the boot of their car,
whispering about the beautiful eyes
they were going to give you.
Celebrating the strange and the shadowy, the damned and unseen 
Your poem hit home with me, particularly the part where you returned the next day to find the rabbit had vanished. Whenever I see something like this, I feel so bad about all the care and attention that was given to the animal from the parents, all the different stages of becoming independent and free in the world, all the daily steps that led up to this horrible moment of death. It can really cloud my mood for the day. There will never be a summer for this rabbit.
If there was ever a time I needed to use a crying emoji it’s now. My goodness, I’m going to have to write another poem now with what you’ve spoken about here. ❤ 'There will never be a summer for this rabbit…' My heart. xxxxx