A rabbit I was made to think
of. Rabbit! And it should be pink.
And in my mind the rabbit stays,
appearing in all kinds of ways.
I love it, how it fills my days,
quite numerous, the rabbit’s ways,
as I perceive it everywhere
a dear pink rabbit might appear.
Until the rabbit I do mind.
You see, it is a special kind.
It is attracted to the blue!
No longer, then, it can be due.
I think pink rabbits ought to know
they really cannot manner show.
Intelligent that thing is not
when it is loving blue a lot.
A psychiatrist made me think of a pink rabbit, and I did. I even was so dutiful I wrote a poem about it.