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Posts Tagged ‘fawn’

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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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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.

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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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Nature’s Dawn

An early warming day in June,
   Inside the oven of the sun,
The earth still blooms from Spring’s swift boon –
   Official summer not begun. 

The morning clouds from off the sea
   Sail north and give a subtle shade –
A lacy, cotton canopy –
   Behind, a peek a boo is played. 

The road pours asphalt down my hill,
   With pair of houses to the right;
While on the left, it’s verdant still –
   A somber green in morning’s light. 

As if I’ve seen grand Nature’s dawn –
   A sight that is the season’s first –
An exclamation, “There’s a fawn!”
   I spot the spotted glory burst!

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The photo isn’t mine (see below) and the fawn I saw was much smaller,
only a couple of days old.  Today, as I post this, I was within ten feet
of two fawn as their mothers came up to be fed.  One of the does that
I’ve dubbed Mamacita, I can now pat on the neck.

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photo by Photonut at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/2dQMBzh/Proud+Mother+%26amp%3B+Baby

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2013.

 

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