That Frosted Tree

A loss of innocence, A loss of youth.

When thinking of that frosted tree

My mind wanders to the rabbit beneath 

Laying wistfully among the barren heath

Though beasts swarm it will not flee

Yet cry out in an innocent plea

They look to steal that floral wreath

Vainly plucked with their bare teeth

And drown it in a time-worn sea

The rabbit's white coat remains undisturbed 

And its crown lies nestled in white fur

With confidence it passes by

The beasts, now chained, their appetite uncurbed

Squeeze out of restraints, the filthy, mangy cur

They seize the garland crown, and leave the rabbit to die.