#fawn - Hello Poetry

A fawn treads quietly through the forest, her mother trailing. Her world is all marsh grass and reeds, her small hooves parting the brush that stands between her and the pond. She bends her neck to drink, nose skimming and sending ripples across the surface of the water. This spring evening, the pond is clear. But she does not pause or look vainly when she catches her own deep brown eye in her reflection. Why would she, for all of her that matters can be seen through the eyes of her mother. Know that in the mirror of her mother’s eyes she is beautiful tonight, untouched by all but the slow-sinking sun. It is late-summer now, and her world is all asphalt and rubber and sickly twisting machinery, metal that glimmers like the surface of the pond they once drank from. Fast metal, faster than nature, faster than her mother. Now the fawn only sees herself in the shiny black of the machine, bent and warped, distorting her once-pretty face. She bolts, her world of marsh grass and reeds crushed under her strong hooves. Know that there is no beauty left in the forest tonight, for it is forever touched by the cruelty of man. Months later, when the falling leaves cover the scars of a summer lost, the fawn finally stops at the pond again. There is something eternal here, something wild in the way her nose first skims hesitantly then sends ripples ricocheting across the surface of the water. This autumn evening, the pond is as clear as glass. And on this autumn evening, she pauses; not vainly, but to catch her mother’s deep brown eye in her reflection. Tonight she is beautiful again, untouched by all but the slow-sinking sun.

0

Jan 21

Jan 21, 2026 at 7:24 PM UTC

venusbaby222

a fawn

A fawn treads quietly through the forest, her mother trailing. Her world is all marsh grass and reeds, her small hooves parting the brush that stands between her and the pond. She bends her neck to drink, nose skimming and sending ripples across the surface of the water. This spring evening, the pond is clear. But she does not pause or look vainly when she catches her own deep brown eye in her reflection. Why would she, for all of her that matters can be seen through the eyes of her mother. Know that in the mirror of her mother’s eyes she is beautiful tonight, untouched by all but the slow-sinking sun. It is late-summer now, and her world is all asphalt and rubber and sickly twisting machinery, metal that glimmers like the surface of the pond they once drank from. Fast metal, faster than nature, faster than her mother. Now the fawn only sees herself in the shiny black of the machine, bent and warped, distorting her once-pretty face. She bolts, her world of marsh grass and reeds crushed under her strong hooves. Know that there is no beauty left in the forest tonight, for it is forever touched by the cruelty of man. Months later, when the falling leaves cover the scars of a summer lost, the fawn finally stops at the pond again. There is something eternal here, something wild in the way her nose first skims hesitantly then sends ripples ricocheting across the surface of the water. This autumn evening, the pond is as clear as glass. And on this autumn evening, she pauses; not vainly, but to catch her mother’s deep brown eye in her reflection. Tonight she is beautiful again, untouched by all but the slow-sinking sun.