I lazily lie outside on my hammock and watch the lights of the heavens
Then spontaneously decide to take slow stroll down by the stream.
As the night-bulbs light my walk
I glance at the babbling brook
And see a fawn face-first in the
water-road, facilely drinking
From the tentatively trickling quencher of thirst.
I solemnly saunter and ponder
the strange life that is ours
Trying to discern the secrets from the dark depths of my brain.
It begins to thunder, the rain
travels downwards in troves.
I head back, dreadfully drenched
, down to the core of my being.
A blinding bolt of blue-white
power surges from the boiling sky
Illuminating for a dear second
the dead body of the doe
Crushed by fallen foliage,
its blood flowing into the now
Roaring river, red as roses. Thus is the final fate of us all.