Travelling through the dark i found a deer
dead on the edge of the Wilson River road.
It is usually best to roll them into the canyon:
that road is narrow;to swerve might make more dead.
By glow of the tail-light istumbled back of the car
and stood by the heap,a doe,a recent killing;
she had stiffened already,almost cold.
I dragged her off;she was large in the belly.
My fingers touching her side brought me the reason--
her side was warm;her fawn lay there waiting,
alive,still,never to be born.
Beside that mountain road i hesitate.
The car aimed ahead its lowere parking lights;
under the hood purred the steady engine.
I stood in the glare of the warm exhaust turning red;
around our group i could hear the wilderness listen.
I thought hard for us all--my only swerving--,
then pushed her over the edge into the river.
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