I dreamed about an Easterbunny
on Zuma Beach, where it was sunny.
She would have graced big city malls
and told me she liked Matzo Balls.
By which she meant those oval eggs
that hang off males, between the legs.
Though dark of skin her real home
was not the Southern town of Rome.
Hugh Hefner was her dear old dad
he'd started this attractive fad.
Down in Australia they have bunnies
surrounding little shacks called dunnies.
They are the ones whose nether hole
has been designed the novel role
of laying eggs, some green some yellow
for white man and the coloured fellow.
Back to the bunny at my feet,
she said that she was glad to meet
a hunk like me, so well endowed
and might she, kindly, be allowed
to cuddle up close to my skin
where we could share in wicked sin.
I saw the sadness in her eyes
and, being better than those guys
who would have jumped at this small chance
I did remain in  mental trance
until those bunnyhands caressed
the little curlies on my chest.
Such loneliness and such despair
it was so cruel and unfair,
of God to make her in creation
and then prevent all fornication,
thus someone had to give her aid
that's how on Zuma I got laid.