Raymond A. Foss Poems

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Looking our the window
there was movement on the edge
the edge of the fog of the morning
Three deer stood, intent,
refined, reserved, particular deer.
Munching, nibbling ever so gingerly
on the tiger lilies, day lilies,
the lemon lilies
at the edge of the driveway.
They stood on the blacktop,
not the dew drenched lawn.
They didn’t seem interested
in other choices, more natural options.
Clearly they were gourmet deer
and the word got around
this was a good place for breakfast.

August 1, 2007 15:20

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