At dawn on the hill where the tall grasses sway,
Five bunnies stood tense as the light split the day.
Pink stamped the earth with a laugh sharp and sweet,
Red flared like fire, quick-pawed and fierce-feat.
Black watched in silence, a shadow with eyes,
White shone like frost under widening skies,
And Blue, calm as water, breathed slow and aware,
While the wind held its tongue in the middle of air.
They leapt and they clashed in a whirl of soft fur,
Thistles bent low at the thunderous stir.
Pink darted wildly with glittering speed,
Red struck like lightning, all power and need.
Black moved unseen where the daylight grew thin,
White blinded the field with a radiant spin,
Yet Blue did not rush, did not harden or strain—
He flowed through the chaos like rain through the rain.
When dust settled down and the echoes grew still,
Four bunnies lay resting along the green hill.
No wounds, just exhaustion, their battles all done,
And Blue stood alone in the warmth of the sun.
Not crowned by force nor the sharpest attack,
But patient and steady when others pushed back—
So remember this tale when the world feels untrue:
Sometimes the victor is simply the Blue.