Moose On a String
Dark shapes on the horizon pierce the edge;
Morning's tenuous light painting the East.
Brittle frosted grass crackle with each sledge;
On the immutable path of these beast.
A cow moose demurely leads the slow jaunt;
The bereft bull's palms amble the same trail.
With rut beginning, his slow chase will haunt,
This lone burly female to no avail.
As if tied on a string he keeps her pace;
Raising his crowned antlers only to gaze.
At formidable beauty his loins race;
The sketch of her body lost in morn's haze.
Just one interlude is all that he seeks;
She slows in wait as his interest piques.
10/26/17
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