The Jackalope
His eyes run red
As his beating heart.
A thing of myths--
The antlers his art.
Long hind legs
In thicket he’ll hide,
Dignified and
Terrified.
Never to be seen
By any one or thing,
Each point a prize
For hunters to sling.
And that’s why the jack
Remains in the deck.
To lope is freedom,
But exposure is death.
Thursday 19th February 2015 4:41 am
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