feral deer – red, not rusa, chital
or fallow, fine animals whose
lack of fear implies their fluency
in this district’s natural relations
sure, if approached they’ll flee
instantly, they didn’t reach
maturity on benevolence, they
stand motionless, watch warily
survived to breed in a vale of
tears locals say, where wild pigs
and dingos are vestiges of a
lasting Colonial calamity
luckily no more guns resound in
the gentle hill surrounds and roaring
stags vie for hinds free of spying
eyes – it is a well kept peace
saw a fawn newborn just yesterday,
took pleasure in its Doe’s joy
restrained – we have no cause to
draw the hunters here again
© 7 December 2010, I. D. Carswell
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