Celebrating their Mediaeval lineage,
The companion harts
Take stage.

A modern fiefdom
Relished with mighty timber,
Elysian waterways, and lesser creatures at their call,
The magical deer hold court.

‘More beautiful than ever I have seen.”
The Lady of the manor decrees.

The Lord, already convinced
He has hoofed Royals on his land,
proclaims with the surety of his ownership,

“No Hunting here.”

“They will abide with us, my Lady,
Bring fortune and magic to our realm .
Turn sad days to festive , no, lusty celebrations.
Turn back the clock and make us young again.”

The wonder of Peace.

Then in a horrid moment,
An errant shot rings out.
Oh no, the poachers disturb the calm.

In fear, the Lord and Lady steel themselves for the slaughter.
The blood, the silent carnage of the brother bucks.
Now all wishes will go unfulfilled.
Joys dashed.

“But, but, but, look there my Dear,”
Amazed the Lord.
They are truly of magical birth with
lives of beauteous perfection.

Still standing their ground unafraid,
Confident in their being,
Content with their ways.”

Slowly, without effort they begin
A stylish gavotte through the glen.

The Lady sighs, the Lord breaths easily
Knowing the Visitors to their dominion
Will return again.

Charlene James-Duguid
December 1, 2019