The Haunting Ghost of Fear

By John Cannon

The mist rises slowly
as the first thin rays
of November sun
penetrate the darkness,

It’s cool and crisp and beautiful
as the clouds of steam
are set alight
by the growing eastern radiance;

Usually, her mother and she
would stroll through the field
and browse lazily
the myriad still-green plants,

But this morning
her mother is vibrating tense,
keeping her close in the woods;

The fawn snuggles tight
to try to sense what’s wrong,
her mother’s ears are stretched,
her eyes betray her fear;

Then the fawn hears the guns.

And at that precise moment,
the precious gift of innocence
is gone forever,

The natural surge of joy
now always to be tempered
by the haunting ghost
of fear.


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Committee to Abolish Sport Hunting / C.A.S.H.
P.O. Box 562
New Paltz, NY 12561