a rabbit wrongly murdered

car's wheel struck it, did not slow,
hobbled the rabbit towards the grounds keeper,
in blue overalls bent down to pick it up,
and taking it in his arms,
for half a moment I thought he'd cradle it,
soothe it or something,
then, his hands oil stained, passing
a roll up to his mate, he pulled the rabbit's neck.

I ran, yes I cried out and then ran, towards the act,
shouted 'leave it, you bastard!'
It gave a squeak as he pulled the neck,
the brown it was, flecked with the white of the winter
we hadn't had and the gold of harvested fields,
was a young brown and its colour flew through the air
as the murderer flung it into a bush,
then took the roll up back from his mate.

when I got there, I doubt he'd heard my shout,
I wanted to look in the bush and what, pick it up,
be with it at its end, but then I heard the grind
of the bus' engine coming to a halt at my stop.
'It's dead' I told myself, and waving
towards the driver, who smoking looked my way,
I jogged for the bus, then could not shake the sound
of that rabbit's dying for days.