A dash of blown rain - the sleeping house rabbit sighs his very small sigh. He has been busy all day, smelling, trimming the house plants.
It is hard to tell disdain from lethargy in the face of a house rabbit.
An apple paring turned brown under his nose this morning.
He acquires names with each lollop and wobble, the Cinnamon Bun.
Turning, he thumps his hind foot - once more, Mr. Hot Cross Bun.
Still, under the chair, he blots up the room's silence - hunched in, a hare ball.
What does he mean, bumping us on the ankles with his nose?
This rabbit is proof of a fondness in being for flamboyant ears.