Ten summers you came
and ate from my hand
I shooed the hunters
and whispered soothing nothings
while other presences
cause you to fly.

Ten autumns you came
to rub the fuzz from antlers
with every year a new point
the trees bear the marks still
from where you brushed your horns..

Ten winters you came
into the back yard
to nibble the leavings;
greens from the kitchen
grain from the barn
and paw the snow away
to get at buried grass.

Ten springs you came
the first with soft speckling
and the subsequents with fawn fur.
A poacher took your mother.
My goats let you nurse.
I watched you grow.
Noble and proud.
My own bit of the wilderness.

Ten turnings of the wheel you came,
trusting me for I was your strange parent.
Ten years you dwelled in my forest
Held court in my meadows.

One can only hope
to keep the hunters away
one more year.

05/17/2005

Posted on 06/25/2006
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