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The Rabbit by Edith King

The Rabbit

by Edith King

Brown bunny sits inside his burrow 
Till everything is still. 
Then out he slips along the furrow. 
Or up the grassy hill.

He nibbles all about the bushes 
Or sits to wash his face. 
But at a sound he stamps, and rushes 
At a surprising pace. 

You see some little streaks and flashes, 
A last sharp twink of white. 
As down his hidy-hole he dashes 
And disappears from sight.