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Posts Tagged ‘doe’

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The sun grows warmer day by day
As if the earth was sick,
Afflicted by a fever’s rise
Like flames crawl up a wick.

The deer are lazier, but heat
Is not the only cause.
New mothers or mothers to be
May in their wand’ring pause.

Close to her hidden fawn, doe stays
And pricks her ears to hear
The tiniest of frightened cries
Through summer’s atmosphere.

And those with swollen bellies yet
Have chosen where they’ll nest.
Like trucks with heaviest of  loads,
They’re slow and quick to rest.

The deer, beneath the cedars, lie
On hill just ‘cross the way.
And when I first step out my door,
Not one is on display.

And then like recent rains brought floods,
The deer begin to pour
Like water down the gentle slope
For what they know’s in store.

They follow me to where I feed,
Since work for grass they scorn.
I help them in their laziness
With just a little corn.

Our symbiotic link is sweet:
I, in their stress, console.
And from both doe and fawn I need
Their beauty for my soul.

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The photo is mine, taken through my front window.

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© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2017.

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I stepped out to the morning’s lap
As on my porch it sat –
Not that it needed any rest.
It simply wished to chat.

It tried a whisper, then a shout.
But neither reached my ear.
I thought it only said hello,
But there was more to hear.

A cloud passed o’er the morning’s face,
A small dark shadow there,
That I was slow to understand
The news it had to share.

Then like the wind will change its course,
The morning turned away
From telling what was on its mind
To darling clear display.

The act that opened was a doe
Who wanted from my hand
A batch of corn or piece of bread,
And came by me to stand.

And then a second one appeared
Upon my grassy stage.
But neither first nor second was
The reason for this page.

The prompt, the muse, the song I sing
Danced, frolicked by her side –
A fawn, the first, the morning’s star
As if the summer’s bride.

I froze, save for the broadest smile
And quick’ning of my heart
At Nature’s spotted masterpiece,
At its four-legged art.

I smiled at how delightedly
It leapt upon my grass,
And licked up all the lessons of
The Teacher’s (morning) class.

And then the nervous mother saw
What it perceived a threat –
‘Twas me! But I was not a foe,
Nor trap that had been set.

But still, it broke into a run,
And its compliant child
Was shadow to its fleeing hooves,
Was first in being wild.

From statue pose, I melted then
Like mornings melt the dew.
I said to morning’s Maker – God,
“I give great thanks to You.”

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My second encounter with a fawn this season was when I noticed a doe being very defensive close to my neighbor’s wire fence.  Her fawn was trapped inside it.  I couldn’t “drive” it out since it laid down and wouldn’t move.  So, I picked it up and carried it out, set it down so its mother could see, and they trotted off together.  That was even more thrilling than seeing the season’s first.

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2015.

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