Soft was the bunny, pulled from his hat of tricks,
and soft were the marshmallows, we used to roast on sticks.
Soft was our wedding-gift-comforter, on our bed at night,
and soft were the vacation clouds, rolling out of sight.
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Sixty years ago when Bri was only nine, he was so soft that every thing looked soft to him. Now when he is somewhat hard he could not forget the charms of softness. A beautiful poem by my lovely friend.
What a lovely poem on softness Bri. You have captured the softness from bunnies to heart.