White Stag

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

one has to pursue a poem
to capture it:
like the White Stag of yore,
we must let loose a yell
to rival all yells before and
gallop headlong down the path
that mysterious beast has chosen
with abandon,
accepting our fate, tasting wind
fresh in our teeth and riding on
for the elusive treasure
found,
this day
or the
next.

c. Mary Kathryn Gough
autumn 2009, WIP

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