Nobody Knows a Rabbit's Nose
To kick off National Rabbit Week, I thought I'd introduce you to someone:
This is Cinnamon (yes, the Cinnamon Rabbit!). He was a special bunny (if a rabbit runs through the garden to you when you call his name, it's a magical thing). He was as New England as bunnies come, straight from a farm hutch in Connecticut. We talked through a lot, nose to nose, on our tummies in the grass. A rabbit can be a refuge. And so, his namesake lives on.
This poem, worn page scanned in by my dad, read aloud best by my mom, is from The Sleepy Book written by Margaret Wise Brown, and will always sound like bed time:
This is Cinnamon (yes, the Cinnamon Rabbit!). He was a special bunny (if a rabbit runs through the garden to you when you call his name, it's a magical thing). He was as New England as bunnies come, straight from a farm hutch in Connecticut. We talked through a lot, nose to nose, on our tummies in the grass. A rabbit can be a refuge. And so, his namesake lives on.
This poem, worn page scanned in by my dad, read aloud best by my mom, is from The Sleepy Book written by Margaret Wise Brown, and will always sound like bed time:
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