A Banquet

I find it hard to believe
That it's now July already
My head
Lies still in March
Away with the wild hares
They
Eyeing the black mascara clouds
As a sliver of moonlight
Glides through
Into a dingly dell den
The Hares
Eyes now gently rolling
Over the shadowed meadow
Slowly disperse into an ethereal wind
Their ears
Floating like sails
The fox arrives
Knowing
That he would always be to late
For this strange feast
No jug of hare
He would return to his earth
With a rabbit
To den dine
With his vixen queen

by Jemia