Explore "Ode to a Hare-Boy" by Pablo Neruda on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
In the light of autumn and the open road, the boy holds up in his hands not a blossom nor a lantern but a dead hare.
The automobiles scan the freezing camber, no faces showing from behind windshields, their eyes of iron, their ears set against everything, their gear-teeth quick as flashes of lightning, skidding towards the sea and the cities while an autumn- boy with a hare, standoffish as a thistle, hard as a flint, raises there a hand to the shudder-sighs of the cars.
Nobody slows down.
They're dun-dullish, the high ridges, the hills the color of a puma on the run, violet now the silence, and like two embers, two black diamonds, the eyes of the hare-boy, now two points set on a knife, two little black blade-tips, the eyes of the boy who's all at a loss, offering up his hare to the huge autumn of the open road.