IV. The Day Came Slow, Till Five O’Clock


The day came slow, till five o’clock,
Then sprang before the hills
Like a giant bunny
That comes alive to kill.

The purple could not keep the east,
The sunrise scared it away,
Like carrots hiding beneath the ground—
The bunny’s toothy prey

The happy winds their timbrels took;
The birds, in loud wild fright,
Arranged themselves high on branches
Far from bunny’s sight.

The grassfields quivered in the dew,
Fearing feet in every place,
And soon it bore down angrily:
The sun—a bunny face!


The real poem, and the more authentic one with interpretation.

Image credit: By Unknown – Jastrow (2006), Public Domain. Illustration for Zakariya al-Qazwini‘s book. Iran, 19th century

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