For the bureaucrat who answered the phone

sonnet on a revolutionay thought

Photo by Priyadharshan Saba on Unsplash

You told me, “Just try not to think about
The broken-legged deer you called us for.
Police will come and shoot it if it’s hurt,
Don’t let it worry you so anymore.”
It limped and jerked into the woods near me
The image burned into my eyes and mind;
I read about hurt deer and learned to see
That not providing food would be more kind.
But then, one early Winter’s frosty night,
As I looked out my window at the snow,
I saw her once again, and with a friend,
Who led and fed and for her sake, was slow.
They’re still together now in early Spring,
Strong caring for the weak in everything!