There he is,
A shadow in the orange-red sun.
A rather small shadow.
Could it be a bereaved foal?
Swayed away by the play of sweet butterflies,
In the midst of this open moat.
A human though is trouble,
Carrying leaden death in their long armed hooves.
As this jungle knows the unwritten rule -
Trust nothing that walks on twos.
I glance away to the magnificent trees,
That are but shadows of my antler's crown;
Yet the large trees seem to shelter a smaller me,
As does the strong to the weak.
I decide to curiously peek,
Straying away from my herd,
To comfort this child gone astray.
Cautiously prancing, I reach halfway,
Only to see a humming giant rock beyond.
This is the rock that often throws loud shards to kill our kind!
I turn, but airborne hooves are faster than those grounded.
A soft female approaches with fear and concern,
Ah, the kind touch of the feminine lives across species.
She's hovering over me,
Trying to find the source of the Red river now flowing over,
It bathes the ground, merging with the now crimson sun behind me.
She reached her fingers into my wound and pulled it open,
searching for the bullet;
She died too,
and last I saw were my antlers;
in her doe- brown moist eyes.
I found it, the broken bullet.
What a magnificent male!
It's antlers are worth more than their weight in gold,
It's meat will be served in delicacies;
It's skin will make another fine bag.
Capture this in your frame,
And be sure to reflect the setting sun in its eyes.
Such a perfect day!