(BG)

 

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Deer in the wheat field


The field is flashing forth,

The light is rusting wild:

A mirage or a miracle?

Deer in the wheat field!

 

They fly up gracefully

Across the gold lagoon,

And vanish slowly

In the deep of noon.

 

Alone amidst the waves,

Across the golden bay,

Behold them, floating to the skies,

The deer. Grey,

 

Beautiful, worthy of

An ancient print. Forlorn,

Chased probably

By bullet-storm,

 

Or faintly hoping,

Though misled,

That man would never

Shoot at bread...

 

Oh, how illusory

Winks haze's shield!

A mirage or a miracle?

Deer in the wheat field.

 


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