The White Stag
By Bard Eucewelis
I saw it long ago; so long ago it seems
as if it was a dream, a white stag in the wood.
Reality is ever fading through time’s seams.
It’s odd to say so; but its sighting was so good.
Although it was at least a half a century
or so ago, I can’t forget it—where it stood.
O, it was so fantastic, free from lechery,
upon those hard hooves. Loping, galloping along
within the trees, like a white knight adventuring,
I followed it down trails, over mossy logs,
past diamond waterfalls and branching, reaching beams;
and yet I could not catch it, faster than a song.
The White Stag
By Evan Mantyk
The White Stag is always out of your reach,
No matter how much you may try,
And how your arrows may fly,
And how much your keen eyed falcon may screech,
He will laugh as you cry,
He will laugh as you cry,
He will laugh as you cry.
The White Stag is ev’ry huntsmen’s great prize
The ultimate creature to kill,
To drive you and toy with your will,
Until your thick head’s forced to realize;
This wish you won’t fulfill,
This wish you won’t fulfill,
This wish you won’t fulfill.
The White Stag is the dream that you must chase,
So pure in the distance it seems,
Like the warm sun’s brilliant light beams,
As if you looked upon the Lord’s great face,
An endless flowing stream,
An endless flowing stream,
An endless flowing stream.
Featured Image: Georg May for Sony World Photography