April Anthology 2016: White Stag Spring

“Follow me, follow me,”

The White Stag cries

To every beast which creeps and flies,

“Into the light—along the hill—

When there’s spring in your bones,

And sun on the rill,

And the fog swirls out from tree to tree

Concealing the path’s next mystery—

Follow me, follow me.”

And they come—they come—

With hoofbeats falling,

Paws padding, wings flexing,

And voices calling,

And hope in the air

And green in their eyes,

And the forest repeating an old surprise

In the tracks of a wish they can’t yet see—

A White Stag murmuring,

“Follow me.”