Four deer in a field under the moonlit sky
Peacefully grazing, watching the night go by
Slowly I approach, looking for something there
A rustle in the brush, perhaps a fox or a hare…
Quietly walking, with each step drawing near
To the beauty gently resting — soon ridden with fear
Carefully I step, hoping not to disturb
Cautiously going, trying thorns to swerve
A crunch under foot, a movement beyond the trees
The deer quickly jerk, look right at me — I freeze
I hope they just won’t notice, and treasure the time
Yet their pouts well inform me that this field isn’t mine
“Come, draw near,” I want to say, “You can still be free”
Futile is my desperate pleading; they have no trust in me
Sometimes I think that the deer — are just like people in my life
With whom I’d like to talk about Jesus — without causing strife
I mean well, yet as I draw near, they run quickly away
Not wanting to hear anything “religious” I have to say
Is it true? Is it they who don’t want to know? Do they really not care?
Or is it I, who runs away like the deer, and never the Good News share?
© Lukas Westevy
2005