by Nick Gisburne
The rabbits rub their armour, grease their guns,
And hurl hypnotic muffins to the mob.
Emboldened by a brunch of bees and buns,
They fly like phantoms, fearless, to the job.
Their mission: first, disarm the metal moles,
Is hindered by defensive cheddar cheese,
But, launching sky-to-surface sausage rolls,
Through meaty, molten crater cracks they squeeze.
The Puzzle Palace, pinkish, now revealed,
The bunnies bounce beyond it with delight.
Banana bombs, atomic, pumped and peeled,
Deliver custard justice through the night.
By morning, when the rabbit raid returns,
The skies are filled with fondant as it burns.
