Praise be the hares on Oyster br As they curl on the stone beach br And look across at Rosses! br br Do they take that shape to look good- br A soul looking toward heaven br But not ready to go yet? br br When I take the binoculars and see the blur of the hare br Seperating itself from the blur of the stones br The disturbance eases. br br The hare that always turns back a moment br To look steadfastly into the sights br Of the rifle that will kill him br br Bounces forward, looks back into my eyes, br Bounces forward, looks into my daughter's eyes, br And settles comfortable, br br Comforting me in my turn. br Praise be the hares on Oyster Island! br Put there by huntsmen. Loved by poets. br br And gone at last beyond the reach of dogs. br They eat with the sheep and the guinea hens, br And run short distances between bouts of contemplation. br br May they have long lives, br The hares that afford us a break br From the language that would explain them. br br May they be shot straight through the heart br By a woman in a boat, and then wake to hear br The bells of the halyards. br br That nature allowed me br A moment to look back the way I've come br And feel, this time, I'm safe for a while. br br To be like the hares that sit out there beyond smell, br Beyond touch, secure on their pads as they sit br Up and remember! br br May the hares increase! The inspiration br They give me prosper. That I learn to make of isolation br And fear a grand thing. br br Let the hare sit! Let the hare sit on the moon! br And may we all be shot straight through the heart br By a woman in a boat.