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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.
