This Honey-Furred Doe

This doe, who switches
with honey smoothness between
earnest and game, between laughter
and tears, flowers and bare antlers,
dancing out of reach all the while;

Who blends in with poppies,
with her long green stalks,
with her slender neck, her festooned antlers
with all the glowing red, softening the tips,
with the fields and flowers reflected in her eyes.

Who'd run to shield precious things
until there's no running left,
until the ground breaks,
until the stilt-like legs fall away:
She if needed, Would keep running.