Free Range Poem

wanders around a meadow,
flits between trees
only found in Robin Hood films
I hunt it down
bow and arrow poised
ready to bring it down
not kill it
I need to haul it still breathing
to the lodge
which is large
like a reoccurring dream
with multiple rooms
smack the dying poem up against
one of the empty walls
while there is still time
and it can expire
as a trophy
with never more meaning
than that.

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