The fawn has lost its mother.
The doe, she was spooked.
She swam across the river this morning
and has not returned.
The fawn was turned back to our bank,
the current too strong.
This evening my daughter
squeals with delight
to see the fawn alone in the field.
She laughs as it sproings
along the edge of the grass,
all four of its legs up at once.
I do not tell her the story
of how the mother has left.
Is it my own fear I project?
The fawn, it vanishes
into the woods. I watch my daughter
watch it disappear.