Bryn Strudwick Poet Rhyme

SPRING BUNNIES

SPRING BUNNIES

It’s Spring, when a young buck’s fancy
Turns to … you know what. 
And soon the hills will be alive
With bunnies as like as not.

Now I’ve nothing against baby bunnies
And I really don’t like to moan.
But I wish someone would tell them
To leave my carrots alone.

Of course, I blame the parents;
They don’t keep their offspring in sight.
They’re too busy doing you know what,
To teach their young wrong from right.

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