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The white-tailed deer I feed seem mostly gray,
Though nothing makes my mind to think that way
Until one comes along of diff’rent shade
And side by side comparison is made.
Once-spotted summer-born, now autumn fawn
That in these last few weeks has crossed my lawn
Is diff’rent from the rest in brass and hue.
Like first-sight love, I saw her shade and knew.
She sometimes come to feed without her doe.
That’s so unlike the others that I know,
For nature births a fawn with legs that fear
And take to flight instead of coming near.
By what I first exclaimed, she’s now addressed.
Brown Baby is thus diff’rent from the rest.
I do not love her less because of that,
Or more as if her hue’s a thermostat.
If all my deer were brown I would not mind
For white tails, warm, soft eyes would be their kind.
And if no brown one ever came my way,
It would not matter if they all were gray.
What matters is that they would be my friend
And not turn tail and run away as wind,
And that they do not war as neighbors war.
One’s color is not cause to love them more.
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The photo is mine. Brown Baby is the fawn in
the upper left.
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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.
The Bard on the Hill 