The Doe On a warm evening, walking the dog near the pasture, I saw an unusual event unfold in the distance: a doe and fawn, chased by a coyote; in an effort to keep up with its mother, running for her life, the fawn fell. The coyote approached the injured fawn. my dog, free from my grip, dashed to the predator, howling; the coyote fled. To examine the injured one, I got closer, and it limped away to its mom watching us from afar. When the young buck with the limp leg, excluded by his group, the doe joined him walking in the night, foraged together in the pasture or in my yard. The doe and the buck with the crippled back leg and lovely antlers; the nightly visitors, now, enjoy midnight snack on the leaves of my apple tree. The buck, his antlers reaching for the moon, his mouth to the apple; an art of nature. As I watch them in the moonlight, in awe for her motherly love, tear wells in my eyes. How long? She doesn't care; just live in the momentary joy. But she knows instinctively that her care for her son in the season will pay off; her son is well nourished and fat for the winter. The night stealthily moves on, and they trot off into the light of dawn. ©Byung A. Fallgren This piece was published in The Avocet, a Journal of Nature Poetry, Summer--2022. Thank you, Charles and Vivian for taking this poem.