As strides through woods at sunlit eve, <br /> Of winter's dying grace; <br /> It states with perfect careful ease, <br /> Upon my human face <br /> <br /> With slightest steps, and wary eyes <br /> It dances , does the deer; <br /> Its head is raised, for any sound <br /> To come to furry ears. <br /> <br /> The puzzled deer, its leaps away <br /> It makes no sense of me <br /> I sit, returning wary gaze <br /> With sweet, beloved glee.<br /><br />Marjorie McAtee<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-deer/
