The Stag Poem by Bob Gibson

It was a gunmetal sky at the break of dawn
the bellbirds sung in the early morn
from the clearing came a roar
a twelve point stag is what he saw



Standing in all his majesty
Marking out his territory
This young buck had beaten all
And now it's his turn, to make his call

the old buck is dead and bleeding
Young does are busily feeding
A new generation will be born
And to each doe will be a fawn

The young and strong, they will live
The old and weak their life they give
But the hunters gun see's no divide
From a bullet no stag can hide

A shot rings out, he drops to his knees
Bleeding profusely amongst the trees
His horns cut off and his meat in a sack
i guess, used for an aphrodisiac