The Doe

Since this week is pretty much shot, let me entertain you with something new. Not really new. It is 35 years old - holy cow, that ages me!

The Doe
She was standing there
With head held high,
Without a thought
Or care gone by.
A velvet nose
That twitched at the breeze,
An ear she turned
To listen with ease.
A glittering eye
That caught all sights,
A fidgety tail
Underside white.
She was a deer,
A young lovely doe,
Who stood in the clearing
Knee-deep in snow.


(Written December 1975 and actually published in Poet's Review in 1995. The next scary revelation is that I have a folder of 129 such poems, so you let me know if you want to be mortified by any more of them. Maybe I can put a weekly poem into my schedule?)

(One other thing. The picture isn't mine; it's clipart. And it is also not a whitetail; it's a mule deer.)