Duane Koukol: Fear for the deer

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To the editor:

Hel-O, Mr. J.

How are you doing

This fair, fine day?

This is a poem

From “Little Bambi”

Whose mother has gone away.

Whose, whose lips,

Upon my overgrown ear

I will never see, touch,

And most of all hear.

Is it,

Oh, please, let it be,

Another election year, you see?

Duane Koukol

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