An ode to the poor, wet little elk

A poem from my friend and faithful reader Wendy:

"Are God and Nature then at strife,
That Nature lends such evil dreams?
So careful of the type she seems,
So careless of the single life;

That I, considering everywhere
Her secret meaning in her deeds,
And finding that of fifty seeds
She often brings but one to bear,

I falter where I firmly trod,[...]"


--Alfred, Lord Tennyson




(Much thanks for sharing Wendy!!)