February 4, 2010
The big brown eyes
The doe watches every tree
But before she will rise
She will search for a place to flee

She can not get caught
For she not lose her unborn child
With a mind of distraught
The doe steps out of the dense wild

One step then two
Then a click
Someone made that noise, but who?
Her mind tells her to leave, and leave quick

She turns to go
But a moment too late
Her last image of how the bullet shone
Her last feeling the pain at a stumbling rate

The last sound a ringing in the air
The last taste her blood on her tongue
Her grief too much to bear
Because the hunter had most definitely won.

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