The Doe

WILL this white doe, my mind, so soon forget
The scent of secret places and the wet
Sharp sting of the untrodden grass and let
Her feet grow used to cushioned earth and
moss?

Will this white doe, my mind, soon curl to sleep
In creature warmth on nights when she might
leap
In silver madness, or nose out the deep
Tree shadows and the undersides of ferns?

And yet to keep her life the wary doe
Will nibble where the leaves hang low,
Hug close her kind, and follow those who know
The safest way down to the water hole.

SARA E. SMITH