Knocks hill cemetery

a poem by Charles Fisher, UK

The deer stands:
Its body shaped like a roof
Its head is lowered
Its ear picks up the sound,
Of a human voice
Its dark eyes faces the ground
Its chin and nose at level ground

In a sunshine high
Black draws mourners closer,
Around the graveside
The final prayers are being said
A warm breeze blows in from the south,
Heading over the Clyde waters, towards
The mountains that hem the blue sky

The recent departed has picked a good view

Down at the tree line:
The hidden deer mourns,
At man's plight with death

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