Little brown masses litter the slope beside the track,
repopulating what once was barren.
For years, the warren seemed abandoned.
One of the home owners probably complained.
“They dig up my garden.”
“They drive my dog mad.”
But they were here first,
before your house was built,
before the railway lines dissected the countryside.
And when we are nothing more than bones in the ground,
there will still be rabbits hopping over our graves.