MUSED Literary Magazine.
Poetry

Sonnet 10, The Deer Crossing

Ken Allan Dronsfield

Sun slowly dipping in the western sky;
the winds are light and the pine boughs tossing.
From their warm, peaceful beds the meek and shy,
walk to the river; time for the crossing.
To the fields above, to graze for a meal;
prance through the meadow, always listening.
Hear the Blue Jay; alerting all with zeal.
Just twilight now, time to make the crossing.
Squirrels have disappeared, gone to their beds.
Barn Owls glide by upon whispering wings.
Night animals stir, sleepiness now shed.
Stand on the bank, hear the cicadas sing.
Enter the cool waters, off to be fed.
Browse til dawn, then return to the crossing.