Shall a rabbit’s love compare to poetry?
Full fast to borrow cupid’s wings, words roar
Into the tempest of sweet night; fools be
Who fling these darts while muses snore.
Yonder shines the dream, moon’s fairy night,
Where mischief, madness, sorrow bedeck his house.
With wit he leads them in love’s whimsy light;
Nought but ill the prattle of a long-eared mouse.
Puck of our fairy band, Will’s shadow lad,
Beside your poesy soliloquy nought shines.
To write beside the bard, to be king-mad,
This willow rabbit, sounds and sweet airs, pen-binds.
Avon words, a fantastical banquet seasoned with thyme,
give art to enchant, perchance to dream, to climb.
Follow that “merry wanderer of the night” to the imaginary garden with real toads
and more fairy foolishness at We Write Poems