...In his burrow, that is ...with a Memorial Day brewskie. From holes to burrows to, well, caves – where we started as a species. But let's not get ahead of ourselves, which is, as Thomas Hardy notes in his poem, The Milestone by the Rabbit-Burrow, something we humans do well.
(On Yell’Ham Hill)
In my loamy nook
As I dig my hole
I observe men look
At a stone, and sigh
As they pass it by
To some far goal.Something it says
To their glancing eyes
That must distress
The frail and lame,
And the strong of frame
Gladden or surprise.Do signs on its face
Declare how far
Feet have to trace
Before they gain
Some blest champaign
Where no gins are?
Poem and image via The Reader.
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