Day 539 of the daily poems. A summer morning, overcast. Our poet Colin Hopkirk is walking on the beach. It’s a dead deer that looks out of place on a beach. From a distance it is hard to make out what it is. Don’t want it to be dead.
Beach deer
It was no deer at all
It was just the shape of a deer
It was an effigy a hoax
It was a mermaid’s horse
It was only sleeping
It would rise with the next tide
It would race across the dunes
back where it belonged
Colin Hopkirk