The field disappears underneath paws,
The soft ground being eaten up,
Fresh green and earthy brown,
Splashes of colour in the tiny wildflowers.
The hare runs and runs, disappearing over hills and valleys,
Spirited and wild and free.
Run wild, Prince of Scroungers,
Of those Long-Whiskers, Bright-Eyes, White-Tails
Of those with a horde of enemies
Of those with no cares, with legs fierce and strong,
Of those live on the earth and under it.
Prince of Everything and Nothing,