the doe

The doe weeps tears of blood
lying down in the soft blue grass
endless miles of wind, rippling.
what is it, then?
she thinks of silver hills of distant memory.
but if life is like a dream then what is this, then?
nothing more than dwindling echoes, maybe.
lying down in the soft blue grass.
the doe weeps tears of blood.
And so,
tied to the pace of the Heavens at dusk,
Earth turns over Her sleeper.
Scenes from Laurie Papou‘s Bambi.

2 thoughts on “the doe

  1. Very sad. The images combined with your poetry makes me wonder if killing for sport can ever be justified. I know some people genuinely hunt for food, and I’ve considered taking up deer hunting as a way to get meat without directly supporting slaughterhouses. But to kill so you can hang a head on a wall? I’m not sure about that.


    1. yes trophy hunting is rather morbid. it is amazing some of the photos i find on the internet when searching certain places or certain mammals. smiling faces atop bloody-nosed animals, freshly dead.

      Liked by 1 person

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