The Stag

I stand between great pines
and cup my hand to frame him
like some telescopic lens
in reverberating sunset –
solitary beast not quite the king
though splendid ‘neath his crown
in silhouette against the burnished sky
with its ladders of cloud…
or, perhaps, more the monk –  head heavy
with the thoughts of golden yesterdays
and bleak tomorrows should the mind
of man fail to turn from mad pursuits
and save a world for all his kind.
.
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