What doe dared dart
from the dark heart
of those grievously green
bushes we have seen,
jumping quickly
with an urgent need
to escape those strangers
who might impede
this deer’s dear
but queer traveling.

I had barely time
to see its brown coat
or the white spots
that rode up
to its beautiful throat
as an arrow pierced
it’s perfectly pristine pelt.

Blood bubbled bulging from
its big neck
as the doe tried to escape
into the night.
Now, I try to
only recall
the beautiful parts
of this sight,
but the deer slipped
on the wet grass
tripped and fell to fast
as it gasped for its last
obstructed breath.

Until, sweet venison
met its death
and though I feel bad
the meat was
the best I ever had.