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Three young deer scampering up the hill Startled by voices in the morning chill, Hikers walking along the trail Covered by damp brown leaves that fell During the twilight mist, the gentle rain Of Indian summer once again. One small deer running up Seventh Street Panicked by traffic it might meet, Ducking through and around back yards To find a way home to the park From whence it came -- No one expected to see game! People pointing fingers, shouting "SEE THE DEER," Unusual sight on the concrete paving, The talk of the neighborhood for a day. Hope "Bambi" found its way Back home to family, That's the only safe place for a deer to be. For a while Until hunting season When sportsmen seem to find a reason To stalk and slaughter innocent deer, 'Tis said it benefits nature and provides venison -- I just say, "Poor little dears."
I like to use dashes for emphasis. My husband was there when this happened.
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