Standing forlorn, alone hidden in thicket
Battled, bloody, weary, defeated for harem
By younger stag, new monarch of the Glen.
Waits for wounds to heal to fight again
Reclaiming dominance and crown
Bringing young pretender down
Chasing him from herd into solitary exile.
Away in distance hunting wolves howl
Stag lifts head, eyes wide with fear
Knowing they have found his scent
Smelt blood and are coming for the kill.
Stepping forward to meet them, antlers lowered
He prepares to fight his last battle.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem