Dusty

Have you heard, of the Great! Dust Bunny Migration? This was back in '08. I was but a lad. And I was paid a nickle. For every dusty hide I had (by my dad). I hunted all over the house, My trusty foxtail by my side. And I became quite scary, To all manner of bunny-kind. I would peek around the corner, Under the stairs, and on the shelf. For those bunnies would scurry, Whenever I walked in, in a hurry. I even found some clung to myself. Eventually the house was clean, And my pockets were heavy with change. But inside I felt empty and cried. For the lost bunny souls I had claimed. Those dusty hoppers should be allowed to roam free! And so I emptied the trash bag I had, In my dads study. You should've seen! It was glorious! All the hops and dashes, Although there were many coughs, And I think some crashes. If you ask (you didn't) I'm satisfied, With the decision I made, To release all my dusty friends, Even though, upon closer lens, They may not exactly be bunnies in the modern sense, Or any sense actually. It was worth all the change in my pocket, To see my dads face when he lost it!