The Stag
by Helen George

At the top of the hill, he stands all alone
Majestic and regal, a king on his throne.

Surveying his realm, alert and aware,
His breath a wisp in the cool mountain air.

Nearby stands the doe that he's courted and won,
And there in the brush lies his new born son.

Someday, this little fawn will roam proud and free,
Like his father, the stag, he will aspire to be.