If only Auden was right
And the years would run like rabbits
Jolting swiftly, but
Then stopping, suddenly,
Taking care to observe,
Long ears attending every sound,
Wide eyes taking in,
All the lies around them,
Waiting,
Until disturbance forces them
To finally move on.
Instead, they run like Caribou
Chased by Artic wolves
Ever moving,
Unceasing, Unwavering,
Heedless of all the restful eternities
They pass along the way.
Oh, that they should run like rabbits.
