Light fog edged across the garden at dawn
The morning after a strawberry moon
In the mist, a figure walks, a small fawn.
He stands frozen listening for death’s swoon
No mother to watch the shadows of June
Are we all listening? Are we alone?
The fawn moves onward. Fear lifts. He walks home
Each morning brings fog or rain, cold, or heat
We wake and decide what path we call our own
Whether the day brings  victory or defeat