Once there was this rabbit,
It’s a regular rabbit.
Nothing’s special about this rabbit,
Just that it is a rabbit.
Rabbits are supposed to be special, ‘rite?
Don’t ask why,
Rabbits are just special.
They are born special.
It’s like, they are meant to be special.
So, there’s also this goose.
It looks just like a goose.
Not that some-kind-of-a-special goose.
Goose are not special even if the goose is the mother of the rabbit, ‘rite?
Don’t ask how come,
The goose just happens to be the mom.
There’s no further explanation.
It’s just that and nothing more to come.
The rabbit wanted a star.
Maybe to eat,
Just not to starve.
There might not be anything personal in it.
Well, it’s just a star, ‘rite?
Why bother a star,
It have it’s own thing.
Maybe it’s the things you see shimmering from this altar,
‘Cause this might be the altar of every living-thing.
You want to know what’s next, ‘rite?
Other than the rabbit realized, finally.
The goose doesn’t want the rabbit to fall, deeply,
In the ideas of keeping the star personally.
Inspired by a poet I used to read sometimes in my childhood, which, unfortunately, I forgot the title.
Illustration taken from: Visual Angels