I awoke in a wood, and found myself observing a race;
I batted my eyes, must’ve mistook - but, alas, a rabbit! There! Setting an anxious pace.
I stretched my weary, worn out limbs to pursue the hasty, swift hare;
On hurried feet heedless it springs - but will he win? Or he’s headstrong, hot air.
Soon, I noted, its agility elevated.
Too fast to think, ego bloated,
With loss of control, even more trouble was created.
In its speed it fell in a thorny thicket,
And lost to one slower cricket.
Poison were the plants,
It writhed, it danced,
But from our dead racer, there is no picket.
After that final scene,
I awoke to find it was a dream,
That hasty rabbit,
That victorious cricket.
What does this vision mean?
Is it a harrowing sign from above?
Or Aesop’s remnants my tired mind crafted all of?