Yesterday, when rabbits sniffed the air
by Terry Donovan
And played their morning games on grassy hills,
They pranced about with very little care
And rested underneath the daffodils.
The cows ignored them while they chewed their cud
And dropped their pats to dry up in the sun,
They knew the farmer didn't want their blood -
Had more important uses for his gun.
The lull before the storm, on padded feet,
Crept all across the land, unseen, unheard,
The farmer's daughter ate her shredded wheat
And scarecrows stared it out without a word,
And rugged age-old oak trees stood unbowed.
Yesterday - before the mushroom cloud.