Beside the Waterfall

 At Dawn
  the big dog—
   Winston by name—
    reached down

 into the leaves—tulips and willows mostly—
  beside the white
   waterfall,
    and dragged out,

 into plain sight,
  a fawn;
   it was scarcely larger
    than a rabbit

 and, thankfully,
  it was dead.
   Winston
    looked over the

 delicate, spotted body and then
  deftly
   tackled
    the beautiful flower-like head,

 breaking it and
  breaking it off and
   swallowing it.
    All the while this was happening

 it was growing lighter.
  When I called to him
   Winston merely looked up.
    Grizzled around the chin

 and with kind eyes,
  he, too, if you’re willing,
   had a face
    like a flower, and then the red sun,

 which had been rising all the while anyway,
  broke
   clear of the trees and dropped its wild, clawed light
    over everything.


             — Mary Oliver