Oh deer, grazing upon the plain
Cowardly prey of the wolf
You flee at the slightest hint of danger.
Oh mauler of the gentle grass
Terror of low branches
You steal their precious buds
And eat their fruit.
Your fantastic weapons,
Gleaming in the sun,
Could do nothing to protect you,
As an hour later,
You're lying as venison
On a hunter's table,
Your head displayed on a wall,
A trophy to his prowess.
-Carl J. 7th Grade
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