​I would little deer
feel pity for you
red and mottled with cold
standing in jeun amidst graven earth
slow to turn cold
under fort of light
so it pierces and hints your russet fur
like flames last the corners of children’s smiles on bonfires night
I would be sorry you stood thin against winter’s first swallow
I suspect however it is you who feels sympathy
from your free land 
gazing as i pass
trapped behind my marrow