Tuesday, October 25, 2011


In a clearing in the woods, two brothers fight.
They ram each other, wrestle with their pointed crowns.
The winner gains the power and the right
To rule their father's ancient, sylvan grounds
And will have the favor of the fairest doe.
So they lock their antlers, tearing from the start.
The loser has to face the snows alone.
A solitary creature is the hart.
But come the winter, brothers lose their crowns
And in the spring the hope for better years abounds.

1 comment: