A secret place, so deep in a thicket
of brambles and thorns, that only the deer
know. Green, tender shoots and knobby roots mirror
a bitter, bright taste that is eaten quick.
Who knows how they feel? Rough tongues chewing love
and swallowing earth's gift of contentment.
Do they sigh with each bite, inhaling the scent
of spring, a belly full of just enough?
Do they whisper thanks, and stop to wonder
how it all came to be? This lovely wood,
that clear cool brook, how is it all so good?
Perhaps it's just like any other
meal, and they graze on toward bark and sweet grass
with no memory, each bite like their last.
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