The Rabbit Hole

Tall dark trees, like withering hands
Pulled at Symone’s dress;
Howls of beasts cloaked by the dark
Brought panic to her chest.

She pulled the gnarly branches off
And crept on, much like a whisper,
Her brown eyes wide and wary
Of the devilish midnight hunter.

Stumbling for hours lost and confused,
Alone in unruly woods,
Symone felt like the girls in fairytales
With gingerbread and red hoods.

Alas poor Symone had no prince,
No brother nor man with axe
And so dear Symone had no choice
But to cover her own damn tracks.

Her dainty shoes were scuffed and dull,
Her stockings had snagged and torn,
Her white nightdress was smothered with mud
And her curls were tangled with thorns.

The pitying Moon watched her struggle
And gave her what light it could
That Symone may find the things she needed:
Shelter and firewood.

Arms full of crackling timbers,
Symone scoured and scouted for a room
To protect her from the howling cold,
Else the forest floor becomes her tomb.

Climbing up a steep hillside
Of mud and stone and coal,
To her left Symone did spy
The mouth of a rabbit hole.

Now Symone was a little girl –
The smallest in her class –
So the sight of that Symone-sized-space
Did all her dreams surpass!

She crawled inside the earthy tunnel,
Blessing this true Godsend,
Her hands feeling along the walls
And searching for its end.

With a small ‘Oh!’ of surprise
Our Symone did tumble and fall
Into the rabbit hole’s open heart:
A round and cavernous hall.

The walls were thick with roots and earth,
The floor with moss and straw,
The whole place smelt like warmth and dew
And Symone gaped in awe.

There were no wild rabbits around,
No creeping fox or timid mouse,
No bones of some leftover meal,
No feathers from a big red Grouse.

Symone had found her place to rest
And so she laid her head
And dreamt of adventure yet to come
Upon her mossy bed.

Next morning she set herself to work,
Furnishing her new found den,
Collecting food from bushes nearby
And some water from a fen.

Now if a traveller had passed by
He’d be met with a stunning scene
As young little Symone broke the necks of birds
And used a small ditch for a latrine.

As time went by her skills enhanced
And she built and fought and devised
Until the rabbit hole became a home
From predators well disguised.

The years did pass and Symone did grow
To a woman of sweet eighteen;
But as she grew, a problem arose,
She had not before foreseen.

Her legs grew long and limber
Her breasts and hips defined
But as she became this beauty,
The space in the rabbit hole declined.

One night, hunched over trying to sleep,
Her head banging on the ceiling,
Symone knew that she would have to leave
And was filled with dreaded feeling.

Her rabbit hole was like embracing arms
Her family, her saviour, her friend
And so she stayed as long as she could,
Terrified of facing the end.

Alas poor Symone had no choice
And so with tears and sobbing sounds
She crawled out, stood up,
Dusted herself off and looked all around.

A misty fog had filled the wood
A cold wind thickened her sighs
But still Symone turned, barefoot, and marched
Toward the sunrise.

Many miles she marched
Till she reached the town
It was small and quaint,
With no renown.

She met an old and buxom woman
Who took her in and treated her well
Who bought her clothes and taught her manners
And turned her into a delicate belle.

Sweet Symone soon married a farmer’s son
And became a busy housewife,
Forgetting all about her days
As a native among the wildlife.

She bore a son and daughter too
And raised them both agreeably
Ensuring that they were never alone
And treating them very nicely.

Then one day, Symone turned her back
And her daughter ran out of sight
And when Symone could not find her
She looked toward the forest with fright.

She ran into the trees and woods
Ignoring her husband’s calls
For she knew where to look and what to do
And what danger she could befall.

Running up a steep hillside
Of mud and stone and coal,
Symone did crawl, with trouble, inside
The mouth of a rabbit hole.

It was just as warm and thick and moist
As ever she could remember
And sure enough she found within
Her daughter deep in slumber.

She woke her up and scolded her so
The little girl cowered with fright
But then was quietened and looked around
At the wonderful welcoming sight.

Everything was just as had been left
Her bed, her table, her tools
Except in the corner her food had rot
And was covered in toadstools.

Her eyes welled up and she cursed herself
For ever forgetting this place
She pulled her daughter into her arms
And kissed her bonny round face.

‘I wish to tell you a story my dear,
One of strength and love and soul’
And so she told her daughter the story
Of her beloved rabbit hole.