She walked gently, hoof before dainty hoof,
Sniffing the ground around her.
It was a passive hunt.
There was something she needed
But it could wait.
The flowers could blossom without her.
Her rough tongue swooped over the cracked lips.
Her search was more ardent now.
Clambering over the highest rocks,
Stooping at the lowest crevice the earth made.
Relief could be found no where
And the sun slipped behind the clouds.
The doe was in madness now.
Her throat was woolen moss,
Her tongue a piece of bark,
Her mouth, as dry as the earth
That had filled it before.
Dirt crumbled under her hoofs.
The animal's ears perked up
At the echo of trickling heard
Beyond that grove of trees.
The moist, supple tongue swept over her lips
Like a blanket, forever sealing in the joy she had found.
The water glistened in the sunlight.
Inspired from Psalm 42:1, "As the deer pants for the water brooks, so pants my soul for You, O God."
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