On Mountain Road by Rick

There's a carcass in the field across the street.
Black vultures feast while drivers pass. Can't resist a beep.
On the fence nearby more buzzards sit and fidget.
Somehow the vultures work it out. Each has their minute. 

It's gross and yet it is but nature's way.
I should drive on but something makes me stay.
The grass is greening up and growing fast.
What's left will hide from those that later pass. 

I imagine him by that roadside standing, the mighty buck.
Crossing that road he usually had pretty good luck.
A minutes hesitation and he meets his fate.
Screeching tires. A painful moment. It is too late.

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