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There was a Guy
who carried a Gun
Everywhere he went
"To shoot the Wabbit"
He loudly proclaimed.
That was his Intent.
But his story
started going wrong
When the Wabbit wasn't
shotted,
Though he tried and tried
Year after year.
He never, ever got It.
One day he decided
To
try again
To shoot the Wabbit DEADed.
So he put on his cap
And picked up his Gun,
And off to The Pond
he headed.
Then...all-of-a-sudden,
He spotted the Wabbit
Gently washing its sun-warmed Paw.
He paused
a minute
Shaking his head,
With a saddish sort of "AHhhh".
If he shot the Wabbit
He knew The Game
Would
be over at last,
And all The People
Would Really Know
He'd got that Gun to blast.
But the Wabbit would
be
Gone as can be --
N'er to be seen from again,
And his cartoon life
For which he was born,
Would
have been lived in Vain.
So he pondered a moment,
Scratching his head
On which there was no hair.
And
when he looked
Back up again
The Wabbit wasn't there!
With a sigh of relief
He went on his way
Feeling
suddenly quite Muddly,
For he knew in his heart
He'd done the right thing,
Sure as his name was Fuddly.
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