Hollow

She cried into the tree hollow.
She felt every bit
the small one of the forest that night.
She wasn't a young deer, though.
She had been out of the herd for a while.
She looked up at the trees:
Thr oaks were creatures
not delighted with her presence.
She wasn't sure why she called
out into the hollow
of a tree of all things.
She'd just thought
that someone would
hear her and wonder at
her cry.
Earlier, she'd gone by the herd
where her father stood: his head high and swung back.
And she'd cried out to him:
It was deep and from
the pit of her.
And he'd pranced off for berries,
disappearing into the light, the way only he could.