Lynn McPherson

Small Hooves

Slowly – carefully

So as not to disturb things

hidden in the dark

the shadows moved

dried leaves crumbled

beneath small hooves

weary green eyes peered

into the blackness

searching for signs

of danger – dynamite

a riffle shot echoed

through the valley

one shadow became still

dried leaves crumbled

beneath small hooves

a second shot rang out

she lay on top of her fawn

cherishing their closeness

one last time.

Lynn MacPherson