As Angie’s son rolled out of bed
and to the Bunny he then said:
‘I am eleven, almost twelve
and in my schoolwork I must delve.
I have, some years ago outgrown
those myths that kids are very prone
to fall for fairy tales and such
for windmills of the folks called Dutch
and Santa from the snowy North
and Easter Bunnies, and so forth.
So, take your multicoloured eggs
and move your tail and scrawny legs! ‘
But Bunny did not listen then,
instead he asked the mother hen
if it was normal that he laid
as if he were a feathered maid
on Easter, coloured eggs at Dawn
near people’s houses on the lawn.
The hen, who was a wise old owl
though still a witty, helpful fowl,
considered this for just a minute
then said, ‘it’s Easter, so be in it! ‘
The boy, who was almost a man
replied ‘I’m old enough and can
go get my rifle, shoot your hide
and make a widow of your bride.’
And this he did, with so much glee
that in the future there would be
no more of ancient time traditions
and rabbits went on different missions.
And eggs, by government decree
were now declared to always be
just poisonous cholesterol
and Santa stayed at the North Pole,
and two remaining Easterbunnies
were thrown head first into the dunnies.
Thus, you can see how it takes little
a word or two, a bit of spittle
to wipe traditions off the slate
So, no more Easterbunny, mate.