Andrew David Dalby
A heavy musk of pine, oak, birch and hyssop;
Hang like sacred garlands upon the blue breeze.
They twist high amongst the trees' stretched tentacles,
To turn amongst the cassis and the Celeste;
Then thrust with plum pleasure into dark wonder.
With new delicate deliberation
She deftly pads through twilights last embrace.
Her feet penetrating rich, deep-damp soil,
That is full of the heavy scent of re-birth,
Time and spirits spent in wrestling with desire.
Her heavy mottled undulating flank,
Slowly begins to reflect a golden hue.
As the ciara sun encroaches from beyond,
The growing, glowing, summer shaded trees.
Its in their shade she rests her panting breath.
Then she's off, lost amongst the forest's dream.
Now an echo of a pause of a thought,
Her pounding limbs thrust down, her muscles stretch,
She graces the air with pure desire.
Is it any wonder that I love her so?
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Comments about this poem (The Deer by Andrew David Dalby )
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