POETRY BOOK ONE: Poems People Like to Silently Move Their Lips While Reading
Fawn Born

Before dawn brought calm to the morning,
A fawn was born in a storm,
A forlorn brown form by the barn,
Now down by mom and her warming.

Torn by the storm to the ground,
Leaves and the bough of an oak,
A wound on the trunk where it broke,
Acorns lying around.

The storm woke wasps in a swarm,
Droning ‘round the deer beneath the eaves,
Fought above the mound of hewn leaves
For the amber in the oak tree’s arm.

Crouched, not a sound, on the lawn
By the barn, the fawn and its mom,
Drawn by the water in the pond,
Unwatched a moment were gone.

|| My Poetry ||