Free land

​I would little deer

feel pity for you

red and mottled with cold

standing in jeun amidst graven earth

slow to turn cold

under fort of light

so it pierces and hints your russet fur

like flames last the corners of children’s smiles on bonfires night

I would be sorry you stood thin against winter’s first swallow

I suspect however it is you who feels sympathy

from your free land 

gazing as i pass

trapped behind my marrow

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