There was a young hare, with way too much hair.
His fur snagged a grate, a fact not so great.
But he couldn’t bear to shave himself bare,
so he’ll have to wait till he loses weight.
I do not know when pride ever did win.
Escape before then? His chances were thin.
The process, slow paced when firm stuck like paste;
held up by his waist, it seemed such a waste.
On what’s this stew based? Hare braised in a baste…
Teensy and Waiter
And the Red Hasenpfeffer
Gracing the world
Like a sweet, gentle zephyr
Teensy was four while Waiter was five
And my little brother knew they were alive
Inseparable friends, when he was so small
Of course Mom and I
Could not see them at all
They would often turn up
In the strangest of places
And could even help fasten
Those loosened shoelaces
Alternative friends
When no friends could be found
And neither one
Ever uttered a sound
And what of that Red Hasenpfeffer, you say
Why, he was their bunny
Who’d come out to play
Yes, Teensy and Waiter,
Old friends that were needed
To soothe a sad boy
When his cries went unheeded
In Memory of Jon
2/12/18
Fat little bunny
Fell in a vat of honey
Sticky, icky
Hasenpfeffer
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