Sitting upon a throne of moss, in a wild hall built millenniums ago,
I stare at ancient woods, and cold waters roll.
A ghost, she creeps down to the placid pool, a Piebald doe.
Is it awe to cause my tremble or her macabre pale drift,
as she silently glides before me, a rare, a ghastly gift.
She feasts on a fare of moss, and dances on an island in a land that now feels lost.
Her beauty is otherworldly, her demeanor proud.
A queen of this forest, wrapped in her white glowing shroud.
She passes by my perch, unknowing of my gaze.
How in this wood I could sit a thousand days,
Never to again witness her majesty,
I bow my head, a man from an uglier world wrought with travesty.
Oh thankful to have seen such glory often unseen.
My eyes would have starved of this if in this realm today I had not been.
——-
One of the greatest gifts to me this hunting season was not a game taken, however it was being witness to her. I never captured her in film, as I feared even moving would frighten her. I’ve spent over 30 years in woods and hills, hunting, hiking, exploring, and never once seen a Piebald. Seeing her on two evenings was a blessing I will never forget, and always cherish. The photo here is on very much like her. She had a small patch of lone brown about her neck and remained the rest as a white and lavish gown. She was beautiful.
