Two rabbits against green grass,
Standing still until I pass,
An instinct built into their bones.
But their colors? Tones
Of brown and gray.
As I come closer, neither bounds away.
Stillness, not camouflage, is their game.
They don't move a hair. Just the same
Each of us knows the other's been seen.
I move still closer, and they careen
Across the field, deciding to season
Instinct with a quick dash of reason.