Poem of the Bunnyman's Pigeon-Stomping Triumph
Angelic is your face, your hair of gold
Falling ‘round your shoulders, as if to frame,
That perfect countenance; ne’er to be told,
That for a pigeon’s death, thou art to blame.
Upon its back, your foot did soundly land;
And lo, there was a grisly audible crunch;
You, moments prior, fed them from your hand;
Who kills someone they only just gave lunch?
And then you laughed, your mouth wide to emit,
The joyous shrieking, triumphal in each note;
And from my own throat bubbled a remit;
I giggled, too, at the pigeon that you smote.
And by your sweet small face, your innocence was sold;
And watching me watch you, you knew I would not scold.
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THE GOODS
You're currently reading a chapter in the story
Song of the Bunnyman. This chapter
was posted on Mar 11, 2011 by
AmandaQuirky.
This is a solo story.
About this story
"I've written about my daughter; now I'm writing about my son... although, in fai..."
This story is filed under:
Children's Tales, Fable / Folklore, Special Interest
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