Deer

You stood like a poem waiting to be written.
 No speed in your silent hooves,
as you sniffed the fallen apples.
I wanted to name you,  
of fur and snooker ball eyes.

I was not surprised that you stayed,
for you knew me as a safe encounter
in the bright morning sun…
then you bowed your head to graze,
in grace and gentleness.

When you were new-born
my infant daughter touched you,
camouflaged in the long meadow grass.
The sparrows suspended their chirrup,
as trust was acknowledged,
then the busy gossip of bird song
25 years ago.

This October,
after my daughter died,
I walked through the great wood
hoping to chance upon you,
feeling your eyes watching me.
By then, hunters had forced you into the shadows.  

I wanted my daughter to appear as Deer,
safe beside you, returned.
I walked for hours, neither of you came.
Looking over my shoulder,
I longed to catch a flash of her lapis lazuli eyes.
Predators had forced her terrified, into the shadows.  

Viv Grant 2022 ©