She is pregnant and would soon have fawns! How exciting!

Read Left to right, top to bottom.
phrases wrap around.
Done in Microsoft Word.
I was inspired after watching routine broadcast burning up north.

Not particularly written about one deer but I had a few in mind when I was writing the rough drafts at 3 am.

You can probably picture one now. The 'loose cannon', the 'misunderstood rebel', 'the timid doe', the 'tragic past' or merely the 'lonely antagonist' whose minor infractions or 'strange behaviors' can lead to uncontrollable chaos and fan the flames of inspiration for the community. Negative or positive they surely make an impact.

Happiness and calm is fine and dandy, but where would be the diary entries, the poems, the pictures, the passion, the camaraderie without the occasional wild card to stir things up for a short while?

I attempted to convey it all with the simple image of a flickering flame run amok.
When contained they stimulate new growth and rejuvenate the dormant.
Carelessness, however, can lead to long lasting wounds that spread beyond any one person could imagine.

I was also thinking of the forgotten at the end part.
Those characters that had, or did not ever get, their 15 minutes of fame.
The deer whose players were so passionately infatuated with but soon became depressing or tiresome to play.
And, like the flames, their enthusiasm smoldered until they lay forgotten and dormant.

I figure I failed quite badly at capturing all that was reeling in my head so I just wrote it out; it is, however, still a nice sounding little poem about fire.

So I decided to suck it up and post it anyway.
And yes, it does not rhyme.

[=10]William was only 28 years old. He should have been living life to the full; he dreamed of making friends, getting married, having a family...But no. Fate had decided that he would not have any of these things.
Six years ago, William had come across a house atop an isolated hill. The village was at the bottom, but a little further away. It was a small area. The house on top of the hill was beautiful; most of the walls were covered with glass windows. Inside, the furniture was very Victorian-style, and the house itself had two floors and an attic. A livingroom, a diningroom, a kitchen, two bedrooms, a study/library, and two bathrooms.
Inside this beautiful house, he'd found a girl. She'd been crouched in the livingroom, hiding behind the sofa in fear. There was a piece of crumpled paper at the front door.
To whomever may find this,
We leave our daughter here, in the hopes that someone else can care for her. She does not have a name. Please take care of her.
He had been shocked and appalled. How, how could someone leave their child alone in an unknown place?
Nonetheless, William did as the girl's parents had asked. He took care of their daughter. She could only have been three or four years old. He'd quickly come to know that she threw severe tantrums, had rapid moodswings, and had difficulty understanding emotions and communicating. But he also discovered she was very intelligent, and he schooled her himself, even if it meant staying up ridiculously late into the night - he already had a job at the local school, teaching children from six years old to around twelve. It was lucky he had experience with children; dealing with the girl in the glass house was taxing, and at first he'd found it almost impossible.
But eventually, they'd grown close. He could comfort her when she was at her lowest and her worst, would hold her to him until she silenced. He'd read to her, even sing to her if that was what it took.

He passed away on the 14th of November this year but i wrote this for him to be read out at the funeral. It seemed to help a little with the pain but I miss him terribly.