Little one, why are you cying?
Can you not wait until you've grown?
You will have your sprawling antlers soon,
I promise you little fawn.
If you can tell me why you want them,
I will give them here to you.
But antlers are not just yours you see...
The seven tines belong to all of us.

The first is the center that supports all the rest.
It belonged to the fawn that stood on shaking legs.
The weak thing that could stare nothing in the face,
and whose mother stayed always, close at its side

The second is the guard that rises close to the skull.
It belonged to the weaned fawn, stronger on his legs,
chasing birds and butterflies.
The foolish little figure that disobeyed its mother
and stole the shoots from under her snout.
Easy prey for the eagle.

The third is the first inward facing tine.
It belonged to the buck, leaping with all
his vigor..
He that is challenging his elders for
hierachy and strength.
His mother comes to comfort him, when the
leader hurts his pride.

After this is the second inward tine.
It belonged to the young stag.
He whose hide shone like a raven's feathers,
and whole musk covered every tree.
His mother watches him go away
Forced by the leader, by age, by time
He will not see her alive again
Entering the new world alone

The fifth is the last inward tine.
It belonged to the hearty old stag
The scars on his body tell a long tale
He searches for company
A herd that is his own
But time pushes him back on himself
He fights but gains no glory
In ceaseless battle, he wins but one
A doe much angered and confused, he has
Impatient and unmoved, she is
But there is only warmth in company here
and the winter passes smoothly

The sixth tine sprouts outward and carrys but one more.
It belonged to the patient stag
He who guards after his mate
But has a herd of many more
He has strength and all his memories
He has fawns that bear his name

The seventh tine is weak and easily lost,
it sways on beside the sixth
desperate in need of support
It belonged to the stag that wanders
All his past burst in his heart
He calls for his mate, who is dead
He calls for his mother, gone as well
The winter wind finds him alone
The Wolves come hungry
They teach him to sing to the stars
In their chilling moonlight thrill
His heart, his life, given away
Into the antlers of his sons

Now tell me, little one, why do you want you antlers?

Do you hate all the stags so much?
You seem so eager for them to pass on their legacies to you.
But look into the pond, what is upon your head?
You have your antlers now, as I promised
How many tines are there?
Count the ones we've lost.
____________________________________

Feeling dopey.... -_-
Also...."All the World's a Stage" :'D