Friday, April 13, 2012

Winter's Lair - A poem inspired by cadbury's creme eggs

It was the wintertime of her despair.
No candy-plopping, bunny-hopping would ever hope or dare,
To venture bravely out from cold, and into devil’s lair.
But t’ween two evils she must choose, the frigid wood or sleeping bear.

As the light of sun doth wane, so does vine shrink and dry.
The axis tilts, away from warmth, into the black and empty sky.
In depth of night, when only moon and stars lend rays toward seeker’s eye,
Only then, did frightful hare, attempt what ne’er else she would try.

The saying goes, “necessity, so oft precedes invention.”
Thus without light, nor warmth, did mother earth halt life in cold suspension.
And without food to feed her bod, did desperate rabbit turn attention,
To seeking where, only fools dare. “Be damned!” She chastised apprehension.

Into the cave, our bunny hopped, the dark was blacker than the night.
And in the depths, was sleeping bear, dampened maws and claws of white.
With wriggling tail, she hopped near, to steal his warmth without invite.
And in a haze, delirium won, she nuzzled till he held her tight.

Her little bod, just fuzz and bones, managed to hatch quite a stir.
Then from the dark, two eyes espied, one shiv’ring, shudd’ring ball of fur.
From deepest sleep, ‘twas giant bear, awoken by this saboteur.
But shortly after, his mood turned, from rage to joy did he transfer.

A tasty treat! A tender bite! This rabbit white would surely quell,
His belly rumbling, grumbling, bungling, echoing through his winter’s cell.
With such delight, his paws did squeeze, till tiny meddling bunny, issued up a yell,
But just before her eyes popped out, one shiny ovum from her bottom fell.

What sort of rabbit could this be? He jumped at this abomination.
No proper rabbit lays an egg.  Must be some nuclear mutation.
Perhaps the devil sent her deep, into the lair as sweet temptation,
Knowing bear could ne’er withstand.  Poor dear was skin and bones from near starvation!

The bear, much smarter than the mean, was suspicious of such luck.
Had only the pest snuggling deep, into his fur been tiny duck,
Would plopping eggs be par for course, ‘stead of into conundrum stuck?
While contemplating questions deep, the mind of moral bear did run amok.

And in his ruminative state, he slumped and sunk against the shale
Whilst under purest snow angora, skin turned a whiter shade of pale.
And in her fear, she gave a scent, that beast could not bear to inhale,
He shredded rabbit limb to limb, and bloodied walls with ripped entrail.

The Moral:
We oft endeavor to reduce, to parts that which we can’t explain
In hopes that we will learn some truth, beyond what is already plain.
We bloody and dissect the beast, tearing it from limb to vein
Only to find, what was inside, did not differ from the mundane.

What made it rare, what was unique, was not some undiscovered part.
Was less the science of the beast, and more the intangible art
But the most important truth, is nature’s beast, however smart,
Will not deny a tender taste, though he most craves a wiser mind, akin to Locke, Kant, and Descartes.