Beneath a very little tree stood a very little fawn
Enhanced as in dreams on the lawn.
That was at night, at twelve-ten.
Before dawn, at four at least
I happened to pass by again,
And there, still a-dream, was the little beast.
I crept slowly, as still as can be,
Against the breeze to the tree,
Gave the doe a peck, drew away.
'Twas made of clay.