Fawn

Delicate fawn with bristly rust-golden hair
Your hooves press thin columns of leg into hardened February snow,
the likes of which you have likely never seen.

Your black eyes follow the sleek silver passenger train rushing through the forest.
This is where I saw you.

And this is when I wondered, is the heat of your breath puffed from your snout warm enough to melt snow hiding berries and leaves?
Did mother deer teach you to make a woodland bed to keep you alive through blizzard-brutalized nights?

Fawn,
what God wouldn't share
its intelligence with such an innocent creature?