Feeding a Doe
February 20, 1996
She was tiptoeing over the underbrush,
when she caught my scent
in the wind.
But instead of bolting
into the safe pinewoods,
she in her winter hunger
could only focus on
the piece of chocolate
melting between my fingers.
So there I stood in expectation,
waiting for her slender legs
to bring her closer
to the sweet reward
I had to offer.
If she would only overcome
her shyness for a moment
by kissing my hand.
(And she did.)