It's not a god, it's not a guide
And nor the ghost of former lives,
What is it, then, that's deep inside?
A rabbit thinks with me.

Clouds race: their world aloft, unknown,
The money-spiders' scurry-stones,
The fox-fear-flash of red and brown,
A rabbit sees with me.

The new-mown hay upon the breeze,
Bright flowers, nectar-seeking bees,
Relaxing scent of world at peace,
A rabbit smells with me.

A strident barking in the night,
A stamp! and rabbits full in flight,
Then sudden-strangled squeal of fright...
A rabbit hears with me.

And so it is at last that I
No longer fear, nor yet deny,
But joyful to the heavens cry:
Ah, Rabbit breathes with me!