This piece of writing was something I scribbled down over a few days during the first week of university, and is supposed to be vaguely related to the feelings of a countryside rabbit moving to a daunting city for the first time.
Away from the hills, from the fields by that lake,
Away from the soft brown fur of my lifelong mate.
Where hence I have come, it certainly ain't pretty,
Just how did this rabbit end up in the city?
To a place which is filled with noise and with smoke,
The hustle and bustle, like an encroaching yoke.
I was born to run with the wind, to be free,
So surely this cannot be the place for me.
There were dangers in the country, oh it cannot be denied,
Perhaps a fox or a weasel was waiting outside.
But these dangers could be overcome - it's the resilience of our race,
It cannot compare to the hostility of this place.
Here, a mist hides all, created by Man's machine,
The once glorious morning air no longer feels clean.
The sounds and the lights dazzle wherever you are,
And the inevitable danger from Man and his car.
His trains, relentlessly coming, with a bang and a jolt,
Despite what instinct tells me, there is nowhere left to bolt.
No long green grasses! No masking bushes!
The vulnerable situation over my mind rushes.
I would compare it to a snare, but there's no death in sight,
Yet I'm sure I still feel the same panic. The same fright.
Whatever it is, I reiterate it ain't pretty,
No way should this rabbit be stuck in the city.