The Forest's Deer

Dear Forest,

You are vast and strong

with many children under your arms,

protected in your embrace.

But do not forget your loved children now gone.

      Remember the deer.

She stands fearful and elegant.

Her nose twitches and her pupils dilate.

The glassy round orbs hold desperately to an darkened moss patch.

They are still

just for moment.

Her head lowers as taunt anxiety softens.

Lapping up water, worry dissipated in the stream,

she stands still.

Demure, calm being viewed.

The sun warms the pure white spots littering her spine.

Soft splashes are

                             cut by a sharp bird cry

She flicks her neck up.

The moss is sprayed.

Pearls of water drip off her wet black nose.

Her eyes swallow the landscape.

She is still

Nailed to the ground by a sense.

Her heart thumps on locked doors.

Desperate fear runs through her veins.

She quivers with taunt terror

But she is still. 

The bullet is not. 

Inelegantly crumpled on the ground.

Feathers of wind dust her warm skin till cold.

Water laps the bloody, red spots.

A patch of moss lies across from her.

And she is still. 

Forest,

Remember your dead child.

Do not weep and rain.

Remember the deer.

She is with you

  still.