Woeful Doe Poem by Chris Noir

Crying lilies bent in greeting,
Coming of the summer winds,
While the heart is sadly beating,
To the rhythm of lost spring.

Yellow dry gold blades of grass,
Give newbeauty to the field,
Which bore so many, manycolors,
Bore them proudly as a shield.

A cheerful doe leaps o'er the meadow,
Following the faintest scent,
Carried by the soft winds slowly,
From afar, where lilies went.

Branches of the trees in forests,
Still coated in royal green,
Crowns that autumns will forget,
And replace with memories.

A woeful doe still roams the field,
With naught but golden blades around,
Looking for the crying lilies,
Which are no more to be found.