Poems, Personal Stories, and Observations

The Stealth of Survival

The deer are seldom seen by day on our street.
They stay in the nearby woods
Until all (or most) neighbors
Are safely in bed.
Dim darkness will be their cloak of safety.

Like ghosts, they silently emerge
From the nearby woods,
Grazing on cold lawns and shrubs
And leaving behind
Only their telltale tracks in the snow
To surprise us in the morning.

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