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The Hares, A Fable.

Yes, yes, I grant the sons of earth
Are doom'd to trouble from their birth.
We all of sorrow have our share;
But say, is yours without compare?
Look round the world; perhaps you'll find
Each individual of our kind
Press'd with an equal load of ill,
Equal at least. Look further still,
And own your lamentable case
Is little short of happiness.
In yonder hut that stands alone
Attend to Famine's feeble moan;
Or view the couch where Sickness lies,
Mark his pale cheek, and languid eyes,
His frame by strong convulsion torn,
His struggling sighs, and looks forlorn.
Or see, transfix'd with keener pangs,
Where o'er his hoard the miser hangs;
Whistles the wind; he starts, he stares,
Nor Slumber's balmy blessing shares,

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poem by James Beattie
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The Bad Squire

The merry brown hares came leaping
Over the crest of the hill,
Where the clover and corn lay sleeping
Under the moonlight still.

Leaping late and early,
Till under their bite and their tread
The swedes and the wheat and the barley
Lay cankered and trampled and dead.

A poacher's widow sat sighing
On the side of the white chalk bank,
Where under the gloomy fir-woods
One spot in the ley throve rank.

She watched a long tuft of clover,
Where rabbit or hare never ran;
For its black sour haulm covered over
The blood of a murdered man.

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poem by Charles Kingsley
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Man is the culprit

Hares and deer produce in multitudes
To withstand onslaught of lions and tigers
Grass and weeds abound much more
To surpass onslaught of hares and deer
Lions and tigers beget not many.
The cycle is in perfect harmony.
Man is adamant to disturb the balance.
5.11.2000, Pmdi

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Bambi's Revenge

canopy of evergreens
a slaughterhouse again
Creeping through bramble
are the body taxman
Black-market peddlers
from Orion’s savage arts
Scoping Winchesters and Remington’s
for easy prey to lay
A loon skywards blue
and a marten on the earth
No Valley or thickets
will curtail these assassins
In buckskin jackets
and Wellingtons well drafted
Freely soaking an emerald
chapel into a bloody supermarket

Assaulted to the massacre
preoccupying his vision
Is the prince of the woods,

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poem by Kevin Patrick
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Hares can gambol over the body of a dead lion.

quote by Publilius Syrus
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Hares can gamble over the body of a dead lion.

quote by Publilius Syrus
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It is my contention that Aesop was writing for the tortoise market. hares have no time to read.

quote by Anita Brookner
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The human imagination... has great difficulty in living strictly within the confines of a materialist practice or philosophy. It dreams, like a dog in its basket, of hares in the open.

quote by John Berger
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No punishment

A butcher cuts goats; a hunter hunts hares.
Some plunder honey; some net fish.
They do not expect punishment of God.
When you’re robbed, will He punish him?
03.10.2000, Palasa

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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In real life, it is the hare who wins. Every time. Look around you. And in any case it is my contention that Aesop was writing for the tortoise market. Hares have no time to read. They are too busy winning the game.

quote by Anita Brookner
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