It’s twilight,
shine hanging on when it can,
dark moving in with all the privileges of night.

I’m sitting on my porch when I see them,
a doe and her fawn
at the far end of the yard,
nibbling on grass and weeds,
at the very edge of tree shadow

The doe looks in my direction.
She’s aware of my presence
She senses I mean no harm.
And she and her little one must feed.

I’m here to watch the sun go down.
But a big fiery ball
is no match for a living creature,
for motherhood,
for the care of one creature for another.

The earth’s orbit, its rotation,
is what got us here.
But this is a gift.
Another’s need often is.

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in Midwest Quarterly, Poetry East and Columbia Review with work upcoming in South Florida Poetry Journal, Hawaii Review and Roanoke Review.