How did I find such fresh, green grass? Well, it’s a skill passed down from Leporidae of ancient past.

Long ago, kin sheltered in sacellums, dreaming of sprigs and sprouts, a request the gods did hear.

Soon after, eared ones awoke to find fields brimming with blades relucing sun’s rays from far to near.

So, now, I pray to the barned mooers to bring forth a crop that will nourish the most brio bun.

When scintillating sky fades for bright blue, I hop to sunniest patch for nosh on tasty yum.

Lore says we pref taproots orange for day’s gnaws, but we love, too, Poaceae twixt paws and jaws. ; )