White Stag

a poem for yesterday also. straight from a squashed little spot in my notebook 🙂

one has to pursue a poem in order
to capture it: as with the
White Stag of yore, we must
let loose a yell to rival
all yells before and
gallop headlong down the path
our mysterious beast has chosen
with unthinking abandon, accepting
our fate, tasting the wind
fresh in our teeth and riding on —
for that ever-elusive treasure:

, this day or
the next.

c. Mary Kathryn Gough
autumn 2009, WIP, edit 1/2/21

Photo by Zoltan Tasi on Unsplash

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