The Doe.

The Doe.

The doe meanders through the wood.
Her soft dark eyes belie
her sharp intelligence
The doe is cloven hoofed and she will die.

She has seen the winters come and go.
The leafless tree and fruitful summer days.
The hunter stalks her now and she will die.
,
She runs…there’s nowhere left to hide.
Her fear is beating in her breast.
She dies. She is the last to go.

The wood is empty now.

Kristine Byrne. 22nd Oct. 2018