don’t cross the buck’s trail…my poem

don’t cross the buck’s trail…my poem

blinking, not blinking…

 

 

Owning the trail

 

The sun was high,

the patient rays

   striped the forest floor,

tree tops swayed enough

   to nudge the shadows,

a bird sang half a song

   way down the hill,

an angry squirrel

   sailed across the trail

      and stared at me,

he didn’t blink.

 

I walked the next turn,

and stared without blinking,

an eight-point buck

   looked back at me,

he stood still

   as his woman and kid

      rambled across the path

         and disappeared

            in the hydrangea,

he didn’t budge,

he seemed to be daring me

   to make a move.

 

He showed no fear,

he owned the trail,

I was the stranger with two legs,

I looked at him for moments,

I faced him moments more

   as I shuffled back

      around the turn,

and shambled from his world.

 

The sun was high,

the shadows trembled,

I walked away through empty woods.

 

February 6, 2025

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My poetry. Copyright © Richard Carl Subber 2025 All rights reserved.

 

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Your comments are welcome—tell me what you’re thinking.

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