Sunday, 17 April 2016
April Poetry 2016/17
A47 6:33 AM
a fallow deer, bleeding on the roadside
waiting for death or rescue.
I wonder what it thinks as I approach.
Does in fear me? Blame me for hurting it
despite my arrival a moment ago?
Or does it think I am its redeemer,
come to release it to some foreign land.
Does she she have a concept of death?
She struggles to rise, the movement
shaking dew from the encircling shrubs
and drops of dew glisten on the perfect velvet of her coat
holding worlds in miniature, fingers of dawn
turning the Moon's shroud pink.
Her eyelids flutter and the bright spark in her pupil fades.
The eyes turn dull.
A single tear runs down a suddenly cold cheek
and I turn away.