In the quiet glade, where shadows dance,
A deer moves with a gentle grace,
Its eyes, a mirror of the moon’s romance,
Reflect the calm of nature’s face.

Through emerald woods, it softly treads,
Each step a whisper in the night,
The forest breathes, its ancient threads,
Entwined with stars, both near and bright.

Beneath the canopy of olden trees,
Where time seems slow and whispers soft,
The deer, it wanders, wild and free,
A silent spirit, gentle, aloft.

With antlers like the branches high,
It pauses, still, in twilight’s glow,
And as the night begins to sigh,
The deer becomes the forest’s soul.