Near the Warren Entrance (Hare Hole) sunlight lingers, there –

The wide-eyed Rabbit meditates, disappears, saying, when it’s cold “I won’t be here.”

Slipping through the crack, Starlings nested in the corner of my roof, the upper tier;

Like the turning of the page in a well-worn book – the seasons change – they won’t be here.

When the weather’s bad I hear the scratching on my door of the feline buccaneer.

When the temperature rises, she sail off once more, to who knows where…

Infrequently, grandma floated through her dreams, House of Cards, William Shakespeare,

Advising her grandchild to not visit her grave, due to the fact that grandmother “won’t be there.”