A Bear, A Fawn, An Otter

A bear prowled the woods

Thinking he was an otter.

 

The quarter moon sifted through the trees

The wind, cool, humid, fresh from the rains

Brushed his face.

 

Dark thoughts, perhaps later

From the night

Wanted him to believe he tasted

The blood of a fawn.

 

The quarter moon, the wind,

The trees shifting,

Wanted him to believe he was free.

 

Pretence, the pretensions of a bear

Wanted him to believe the taste

Of blood.

 

 

He would rather be an otter

Perhaps worrying about the taste of

Trout.

 

However, he was a bear

Watching a fawn graze in the pale moonlight.

 

He was a bear.

He wasn’t hungry.

He was a bear moving

Through the night.

2 Comments

  1. Dorothy Pitt

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