How warily buck, driven before the dawn’s
Swift shafts’ striking, toe the still humid glade,
Timorous tenants of dew, of the misty air
Tingles their nostrils delicate, never so fine
Stirring a scent in the woodland, never a blade
Springs into action. Sudden. Electrically still
Stand buck and doe, stand man and beast, stands day.
Alasdair Aston

© 2003 Suffolk Naturalists' Society