From the crest of a curtained hill
a willowy white rabbit spews
multi-coloured marvels of murderous metal,
their rubber wheels rubbing tarmac
and whirling towards oblivion
as they race, race, race against
a never-ending time. “Make way…
Make way!” they call, “I’m late…
I’m late for a very important fate.”
Mad as mid-March hares they race,
race across a ken-less finish
line of existence. Don’t they know?
Don’t they understand a drop of difference?
Life is no competition.
It’s a journey.
2 March 2016
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