King of the Mountain

A new born fawn follows his mother
Clumsily he trots
Holding up his small body
Covered in white spots

His mother nestles him
Into the tall Montana grass
He silently waits for her return
Perfectly still while others pass

She shows him the way
Teaches him what a deer needs to know
What to eat, where to hide
When danger comes
Where to go

Survival of the fittest
Comes out when the coast is clear
He’s learned to detect trouble
When it is near

The buckling develops antlers
That sit on top of his head
He spars with his young friends
That will become his competitors for a doe to be bred
There will be losers, winners
Some left limping, others dead

The buck antlers soft velvet
Harden for the upcoming fight
After the ruts battle for love
He later sheds his natural weapons
Losing the left one and the right

They will grow back
He becomes bigger each year than before
Marking his territory with rub lines
Daring all trespassers to battle him in the woods war

Wolves, hunters
Predators galore
He out smarts their teeth, claws and guns
Lives on another year more

He makes his bed
In the mountain where his gene pool is spread
Outsmarted the lions
Escaped sickness, heart piecing arrows and lead

Old and grey
He is wise
His fallen squirrel chewed antlers
Are the hunters only prize
Not even seeing a glimpse of him through the trees
With their eyes

He walks up the same trail
King of the mountain, his massive crown proudly worn
He lays down for his final rest
Peacefully passing
In the same bed he was born