Transparent Words - Poetry

 
Sally James
Little Deer.

There he goes in the night, his lithe body,
hesitant at first, then springing across the country road.

Too young to be out late searching for his mother,
trying to capture her scent in the cold damp air.

His spindle legs dance him into empty fields
where trees have disappeared and black moors beckon.

With the slim moon only a quarter shining, he leaps
into the dark, tries to find trails long gone.

I think of him now, nostrils quivering, ears alert,
his wide eyes moist when he finds his mother.



 
 

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