White ghost

Running through
Distant fields of memory
White deer
Edge of endless skies
Ghostly apparition
Of truth.
Running out of space
Of time
As man too soon will approach
Driving you from
The woodlands
Of your youth,
Pushing you to the edges
Where safety will no longer be
A given.
White ghost
Memory of you as a child
Staring I awe
Of beauty never seen
Longing to touch
Your soft fur
Longing to see you
Live on forever.

In Western NY there lies a population of 200 white deer. Now on the verge of losing their lands to development….how very sad.