My Dog Named Cat
Spring of life, so much like the flowers in the garden, or the leaves on The mighty oak tres, all blooming, all turning green, as days go by,
My dog and I, we used to run free together, through the fields of corn, Down the country lanes, so happy we were, me and my dog named Cat;
When rabbits crossed our path, we chased them until our lungs were about to Burst, then we'd lie there upon the ground breathing in the fresh country Air, and nowhere on earth, was there a happier place;
Summer, the body of life, when all is happening so fast it makes your head Spin, hot days, warm nights, when the sun and stars seem so very close, When maturity sets in on a child's dream on a puppy's playful days;
With work to be done now, we're still together, me and my dog Cat, side by Side we walk through the fields, our eyes still glance for a trace of that Same rabbit;
When day is done, even though we're tired, we hurry back to take up the Chase, and maybe someday soon, we'll catch old rabbit, but I know, in both Of our hearts we hope we never will;
Fall, the Autumn of life, when things slow down, when hair turns gray, and Eye sight fades, when the memories are thought of, more often;
Me and my dog Cat, still walk the fields together, our old friend the Rabbit, is still with us, Cat's bark is growing weaker, and his legs just Aren't the same;
I limp along with them, and seem to keep up somehow, but I'm sure old Cat Sometimes slows down, just for me to catch up, we watch more sunsets now From the porch, than we ever did before;
Winter, the cold and lonely time of life, when sometimes things end, oh, The snow is beautiful to see, as it falls to earth, but the old days are Gone now, gone;
Old Cat doesn't walk with me anymore, when he died my tears fell on his Grave, even old rabbit was there to say goodbye;
I'm sure old rabbit won't be with me in Spring, I suppose I'll sit by the Fire and dream of those good times, memories of me, and my dog named Cat.
poem by William W. Sloan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Last Days of Summer
Whatever the way the summer days end,
In the type of summer is how it has been,
Whether a good one or bad one,
The last days of summer,
Can be sad or happy endings,
As each season ends,
With another one beginning,
The summer could have been,
Miserable yet,
Sun scorching us everyday,
And sunlight shining on all our faces,
It is how it is,
Out there where all is seen,
In,
Summer days of fun,
Summer days of love,
Summer days of seeing,
Summer days of been,
Out and about where summer is,
And when summer came and went?
With a mundane feeling that it left?
Was the last days of summer,
And the begining of another,
Autumn as we know it,
Fall in other places,
Where the ending of one season shows,
By the decaying of it,
When Autumn Fall shows,
Where we will wrap up and snuggle,
With warm cuppas drinks,
With a book,
Or,
Catch up on watching films,
Yet,
Still,
Musing over the summer days,
Of sunshine memories,
Now,
Warm hats and gloves,
With rustle leaves,
That rustle beneath,
Our feet as we walk,
Through the park,
And see,
The summer leaves turn,
To autumn shades,
Taking in,
The last days of summer,
Reflecting,
And remember,
The falls of Autumn's,
Is the signs of summer,
That has ended,
And minglings with,
All that falls,
From the summer ending,
To autumn beginnings,
Is the,
Decaying,
Of summer,
To regrow itself,
For next season's of summer,
When it begins again,
Yet,
In between,
There's,
Autumn,
Winter,
Spring,
Till,
Again,
Last days of summer,
And all in bloom again.
poem by Ellen Ni Bheachain
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Market Square
I had a penny,
A bright new penny,
I took my penny
To the market square.
I wanted a rabbit,
A little brown rabbit,
And I looked for a rabbit
'Most everywhere.
For I went to the stall where they sold sweet lavender
("Only a penny for a bunch of lavender!").
"Have you got a rabbit, 'cos I don't want lavender?"
But they hadn't got a rabbit, not anywhere there.
I had a penny,
And I had another penny,
I took my pennies
To the market square.
I did want a rabbit,
A little baby rabbit,
And I looked for rabbits
'Most everywhere.
And I went to the stall where they sold fresh mackerel
("Now then! Tuppence for a fresh-caught mackerel!").
"Have you got a rabbit, 'cos I don't like mackerel?"
But they hadn't got a rabbit, not anywhere there.
I found a sixpence,
A little white sixpence.
I took it in my hand
To the market square.
I was buying my rabbit
I do like rabbits),
And I looked for my rabbit
'Most everywhere.
So I went to the stall where they sold fine saucepans
("Walk up, walk up, sixpence for a saucepan!").
"Could I have a rabbit, 'cos we've got two saucepans?"
But they hadn't got a rabbit, not anywhere there.
I had nuffin',
No, I hadn't got nuffin',
So I didn't go down
To the market square;
But I walked on the common,
The old-gold common...
And I saw little rabbits
'Most everywhere!
So I'm sorry for the people who sell fine saucepans,
I'm sorry for the people who sell fresh mackerel,
I'm sorry for the people who sell sweet lavender,
'Cos they haven't got a rabbit, not anywhere there!
poem by Alan Alexander Milne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Let Us Be Friendly With Everybody!
Rabbit and Tortoise
Went for a race;
Envy villain rabbit
Threw the stone at Hero Rabbit;
Hero Rabbit's leg got broken,
Limping Rabbit couldn't run fast!
Hero Rabbit lost the match,
This is how Tortoise won the race.
Lesson is, 'Don't have enmity'
Let us be friendly with everybody!
poem by V.K. Kanniappan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Trip
Like an unripe melon
Like a conquer Magellan
Like a handy capped Helen Keller
There is a moonster in the cellar
He has been there since last November
I was once a member-
Of his palace
Until I was hit in the head with a mallet
Creeping along the halls
I have spotted the moonster in conversation with the white rabbit
Me thinks that white rabbit has a nasty habit-
Of being late
Last time they nearly locked the gate
Is his clock too slow?
Or is telling time his foe?
At least the moonster and purple tiger know
Acid is a trip that is not a trick for kids
But the rabbits white hair show great age
Maybe his mind is like that of a mage
I saw him once pull himself out of his own hat
Very impress for a magician with a assistant gnat
He buzzes around the rabbit’s head, a dark shade of blue
The rabbit does not reek, I have seen him use his wife’s shampoo
If I may take the time
I must say for a rabbit his wife is a dime
I even saw her and purple tiger in the shower at the same time
Of course the white rabbit was too late to catch them of this crime
Just then I told the purple tiger not to eat the white rabbit or the Chinese Girl
“She is your world! ”
You just don’t know it and she will not show it
So he devoured the loaf of bread instead
poem by Vincent Dali
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Winter's Approach
DE sun hit shine an' de win' hit blow,
Ol' Brer Rabbit be a-layin' low,
He know dat de wintah time a-comin',
De huntah man he walk an' wait,
He walk right by Brer Rabbit's gate —
He know —
De dog he lick his sliverin' chop,
An' he tongue 'gin' his mouf go flop, flop—
He —
He rub his nose fu' to clah his scent
So's to tell w'ich way dat cotton-tail went,
He —
De huntah's wife she set an' spin
A good wahm coat fu' to wrop him in
She —
She look at de skillet an' she smile, oh my!
An' ol' Brer Rabbit got to sholy fly.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Run Rabbit Run
Run Rabbit, Run
Some humans, they ain't nuthin' but nuthin'
They all run like scared little rabbits
Run Rabbit, Run.
Run Rabbit.
RUN RABBIT, RUN!
Run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run
Run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run
Run, run rabbit, run away, run away
Run, run rabbit, run away, run away
Let me get her, I know what to do
Let me get her, I know what to do
Run, run rabbit, run away
Hey, hey, hey, hey
A child so pure, dyin' in the clutch
A child so pure, down in the hush
Run, run rabbit, run away
Hey, hey, hey, hey
Hey yeah, hey it's alive
Hey yeah, hey I survive
Hey yeah, hey it's alive
Hey yeah, hey I survive
Mary, mary ain't this fun?
Mary, mary I got a gun
Run, run rabbit, run away
Hey, hey, hey, hey
Let me get her, I know what to do
Let me get her, I know what to do
Run, run rabbit, run away
Hey, hey, hey, hey
Hey yeah, hey it's alive
Hey yeah, hey I survive
Hey yeah, hey it's alive
Hey yeah, hey I survive
song performed by by Rob Zombie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Natures Corse
There's a frog
on a log
who croaks at
a rabbit with
the habit.
The rabbit see's
her friend deer
who has the fear
of a human and
a steer,
While walking beside
the river the deer gets a
shiver
so he runs in a local
bush.
He see's the rabbit
out there and
breathing in the freash
air.
poem by Valerie Aker
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Other Chinee Cook
Yes, I got another Johnny; but he was to Number One
As a Satyr to Hyperion, as a rushlight to the sun;
He was lazy, he was cheeky, he was dirty, he was sly,
But he had a single virtue, and its name was rabbit pie.
Now those who say the bush is dull are not so far astray,
For the neutral tints of station life are anything but gay;
But, with all its uneventfulness, I solemnly deny
That the bush is unendurable along with rabbit pie.
We had fixed one day to sack him, and agreed to moot the point
When my lad should bring our usual regale of cindered joint,
But instead of cindered joint we saw and smelt, my wife and I,
Such a lovely, such a beautiful, oh! such a rabbit pie!
There was quite a new expression on his lemon-coloured face,
And the unexpected odour won him temporary grace,
For we tacitly postponed the sacking-point till by-and bye,
And we tacitly said nothing save the one word, “rabbit pie!”
I had learned that pleasant mystery should simply be endured,
And forebore to ask of Johnny where the rabbits were procured!
I had learned from Number One to stand aloof from how and why,
And I threw myself upon the simple fact of rabbit pie.
And when the pie was opened, what a picture did we see!
They lay in beauty side by side, they filled our home with glee!
How excellent, how succulent, back, neck, and leg, and thigh!
What a noble gift is manhood! What a trust is rabbit pie!
For a week the thing continued, rabbit pie from day to day;
Though where he got the rabbits John would ne'er vouchsafe to say;
But we never seemed to tire of them, and daily could descry
Subtle shades of new delight in each successive rabbit pie.
Sunday came; by rabbit reckoning, the seventh day of the week;
We had dined, we sat in silence, both our hearts (?) too full to speak,
When in walks Cousin George, and, with a sniff, says he, “Oh my!
What a savoury suggestion! what a smell of rabbit pie!”
“Oh, why so late, George?” says my wife, “the rabbit pie is gone;
But you must have one for tea, though. Ring the bell, my dear, for John.”
So I rang the bell for John, to whom my wife did signify,
“Let us have an early tea, John, and another rabbit pie.”
But John seemed taken quite aback, and shook his funny head,
And uttered words I comprehended no more than the dead;
“Go, do as you are bid,” I cried, “we wait for no reply;
Go! let us have tea early, and another rabbit pie!”
Oh, that I had stopped his answer! But it came out with a run:
“Last-a week-a plenty puppy; this-a week-a puppy done!”
Just then my wife, my love, my life, the apple of mine eye,
Was seized with what seemed “mal-de-mer,” — “sick transit” rabbit pie!
And George! By George, he laughed, and then he howled like any bear!
The while my wife contorted like a mad “convulsionnaire;”
And I—I rushed on Johnny, and I smote him hip and thigh,
And I never saw him more, nor tasted more of rabbit pie.
And the childless mothers met me, as I kicked him from the door,
With loud maternal wailings and anathemas galore;
I must part with pretty Tiny, I must part with little Fly,
For I'm sure they know the story of the so-called “rabbit pie.”
poem by James Brunton Stephens
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Goodbye To Summer
As the green leaves of September
Turn golden in the October sun
Summer starts to close it's eyes
For It's time to say goodbye
To give way to fall
With all of her glorious colors
Before the cold winds of winter
Turn the world dark and gray
Leaving us just memories of happier days
When life was full with no regrets
Hoping that the coming spring
Will bring a new life
To look forward too
Once again
poem by David Kush
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Autumn in the Northerm Hemisphere, Spring in the South..
It’s autumn here: the leaves fall brown,
the nights are cold and frosty,
the days are shorter and shorter,
there’s snow on the way…
is autumn asking you to be sad?
Go take a walk: fill your lungs with air –
isn’t that good? Don’t you feel the air
singing of everything that nature needs
to keep things going the whole year round?
Llisten as you walk
to all that goes on in silence;
secret movements pretending to be stillness:
the trees are making plans for Spring,
the plants, the flowers too; the earth
is bubbling secretly with thoughts of Spring..
If on an autumn walk
a Persian poet met a Japanese poet
they might write
a Persian haiku:
This autumn evening
my mind is full of endings;
trees smile as they plan.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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About Brother Rabbit.
Brother Rabbit and Brother Terrapin wanted to run round a tree.
They went to Brother Bear and asked him to be the referee.
He said to Brother Terrapin, “You win if you’re the first to take the stone! ”
Brother Rabbit ran and won as Brother Terrapin could only go,
He cried, “Brother Rabbit has run, but has he really won?
Look here, my stone’s on me, so I’m number one! ”
When Brother Fox and Brother Rabbit meet,
Brother Fox always tries to eat
Brother Rabbit who often thinks how
To laugh at Brother Fox. Now
Brother Rabbit said, “Have we met, Brother? Hi! ”
“Oh! I haven’t had lunch”, Brother Fox replied.
“But when we yesterday met,
You also said that.
Poor Brother Fox had no lunch,
Then have for it grass or a branch”.
Brother Rabbit’s taught Brother Wolf a lesson.
He’s done it to amuse his little son.
Now, Brother Wolf’s in a cage.
Nothing he can change.
Yesterday he ate meat in a trap,
And Brother Rabbit didn’t let
Him run out, he locked him then,
He taught him and needn’t teach again.
poem by Konstantin Ananin
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Winter Must Be Cold With No Memories
Winter is a lonely season
if you have no one.
The snow lays on the ground,
white and pale as death.
You walk along any beach
see how deserted it can be.
Empty as a broken heart
living in loneliness.
For some winter
must be cold with no memories.
Something to lift the evening chill
to warm summer days
of two hearts entwined.
So winter can be cold
with no memories
of warm and happier times.
28 March 2008
poem by David Harris
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Every Thing In Its Time
Walk for a mile.
Run for a few.
Pretty soon time's gonna
catch up with you.
So walk for the joy of it
and run like a rabbit.
But don't ever let it
become a habit.
For habits become
so hard to break
and those legs of yours
will start to ache.
There's a time and place
to recognize the signs
when routine undermines
what's best for you.
Listen to your body.
It will talk to you.
It's your closest friend
and will tell you what to do.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Usual Story...
and then the problem comes
after the meeting of the
the turtle and the rabbit
after the winning and the losing
to each priority
the rabbit to the bushes
to the river the turtle goes
there is no saying that
after all, the warning is given
personally, the rabbit will
always remember
and so does the turtle
there is no point of reconciliation
the facts of life are here again
nothing to lose nothing to gain.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Now Stop, Face Reality
you have shown me
how to convert
this newspaper strips
into money
how this flower
turns into a white
rabbit
how the rabbit turns
into a hat
then back to a newspaper
strips again
magician, i am tired
of your illusions
how your hands
deftly deceived my
weaker eyes
now i have my last request
please perform this magic:
make yourself disappear.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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279
you have shown me
how to convert
this newspaper strips
into money
how this flower
turns into a white
rabbit
how the rabbit turns
into a hat
then back to a newspaper
strips again
magician, i am tired
of your illusions
how your hands
deftly deceived my
weaker eyes
now i have my last request
please perform this magic:
make yourself disappear.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Lovely Story
Spring irises and french lilacs bloom in large fields.
Orchid roses rise in hearts out of my mind when I think of love.
My purple heart finds great joy in all things purple.
The sunset glows brightly like a persian carpet.
It seems as if through my eyes, everything is lavender and purple.
As the sky is the color of plum, tiny elves, all the color of aqua, creep through the forest of flowers.
They tiptoe and crawl through the eerie, silver moonlight, while seeds soar between them like birds.
Madam Morocco snuggles in her bed while her velveteen rabbit in her warm hug cuddles beside her.
The rabbit purrs and admires his lace nightgown.
Maids scurry through enormous halls to serve their mistress.
They blow their horns to scare away wolves.
They watch the beautiful sunset glow as their mistress lets them rest.
poem by Catherine Novick
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Seasons
Enjoying the walk, with no talk
the air so crisp, the breeze so light
the sun so bright
the leaves are changing, falling in range
the animals storing for a cold winter night
the coats are hanging, will be changing
the seasons are changing so rapidly
where did the summer go
the fall so beautiful, the sunsets so breathless
the rain so cold, the clouds so gray
changing to snow, and growing
waiting for spring to bring
the green and the dream
of beautiful flowers and the gift of life
to the season change
but we love the changes of all
circle of nature, the beauty it brings
for all to sing, giving me spring
poem by Michael Peterson
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Morality is indispensable: but the Divine Life, which gives itself to us and which calls us to be gods, intends for us something in which morality will be swallowed up. We are to be remade. All the rabbit in us is to disappear-the worried, conscientious, ethical rabbit as well as the cowardly and sensual rabbit. We shall bleed and squeal as the handfuls of fur come out; and then, surprisingly, we shall find underneath it all a thing we have never yet imagined: a real man, an ageless god, a son of God, strong, radiant, wise, beautiful, and drenched in joy.
C.S. Lewis in The Grand Miracle
Submitted by Rebeca Bucur
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Soft Coat
On the rapid asphalt road
bloody fur, a rabbit caught
in the glaring headlight of
a speeding car.
Poor creature don’t cross
the road at night, do not
cross it at all unless you’re
an angel and can fly.
No one loves a rabbit less
it is a child’s pet and lives in
a tiny cage. Run free rabbit,
run on the forest’s floor.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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