“The Hare”, a poem by Dan in dedication to NorrRRRrrrRRrr the hare, of BelgiumThe hare sits there, the wolves prowlThe hare is silent; the wolves howlThe foxes run swift, hungry growls the bear—Warm tasty hare smells good in cold airThe hare has a lair, not here, elsewhere…If the hare could pray, he would utter a prayerIf the hare could swear, then swear would the hareBut the hare is prey, and prey’s prayer is a dareThe hare’s nostrils flare (which is how hares swear)Boldly he leaps through the cold autumn air!Quick is the hare! But will he get there?A hare’s existence is hope and despairThere rises a wind as pursued runs the hareThere blares a horn, and the wolves cry in ireThey see their prey, and ahead, walls of fireAnd the hare’s leaping strides take him there.the hare, she runs into the fire,the fire, it takes her, she is not burnedthe hare leaps into the firethe fire, it loves her, she is freeAnd now it is raining, and no one is thereExcept for the hare as careful as everThe rain is a friend, it drowns the painOf smelling delicious in the cold autumn airThe hare is there and so is the rainBut some of the others won't rise againThe howlers, the prowlers had better bewareThe courage and daring of a scared white hare…

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