The Fawn by Mary Oliver
Sunday morning and mellow as precious metal
The church bells rang, but I went
To the woods instead.
A fawn, too new
For fear, rose from the grass
And stood with its spots blazing,
And knowing no way but words,
No trick but music,
I sang to him.
He listened.
His small hooves struck the grass.
Oh what is holiness?
The fawn came closer,
Walked to my hands, to my knees.
I did not touch him.
I only sang, and when the doe came back
Calling out to him dolefully
And he turned and followed her into the trees,
Still I sang,
Not knowing how to end such a joyful text,
Until far off the bells once more tipped and tumbled
And rang through the morning, announcing
The going forth of the blessed.
Awww! Lovely poem.
Yes, it is. yes…
Wonderful…
Beautiful and touching. Sort of made my heart ache…in a sweet way.
The woods is akin to a church, it makes one’s heart grown fonder.
Simply beautiful…
❤
Really , really very good …
Love, hugs and blessings … ME