Driving through Richmond Park today,
We stopped to watch the deer pass.
They took their time,
Pausing to sniff the wind,
Making as if to cross, then stopping to crop the grass.
A stag sauntered on to the road,
Then stood to look our way,
Not at us, for in our little shells
We were as rocks, or mounds, mere shapes,
Insignificant bumps in the landscape.
No, in all his antlered pomp,
He looked above us, over us,
Into the grassy, tree-thronged distance,
And, having surveyed his demesne,
He walked slowly to the other side
To crop fresh grass,
And the beautiful, submissive does
Followed where he led.
Meanwhile, we sat meekly, humbly, the common herd,
Waiting for this royal progress to pass.