With dead eyes black as coal,

 she starred into an empty dream.

The willows bowed and wept

adjacent to the now silent stream.

Clouds slipped beneath the mournful boughs,

 just to steal a peek.

As dried tears matted her hair

in semicircles around her cheek.

Distant screams resounded now

 throughout the woods, as

Rapidly approaching feet

alerted the others to run,

 Hunters spilled over the knoll

with blood still in their eyes,

 Shouting with joy unmatched

 over the deed that had been done.

Pulling knives from their sheathes

 they approached the doe

As if she were ready to stand and run.

Without pity, they took to task at hand

Ripping and cutting, slicing and more.

Oh what shame it is, to call this sport.

Let alone be called a man.