Yesterday I commented on some of the deer that have been roaming about Rock's Roost in the early morning hours. They are beautiful creatures, serene and graceful, whose only crimes are occasional forays into gardens, unauthorized pruning of fruit trees, and jumping in front of vehicles driven by wild-eyed hillbillies as they barrel recklessly along our country lanes. Deer can become pests, and for that reason this state, and most others, allow humans to kill the regal animals at various times during the year.
Through her poem, "To Kill a Deer," the poet Carol Frost takes readers along on a hunt in which she shares the feeling that comes with shooting a deer. She also talks of gutting the animal and harvesting some cuts of meat. Although her motivation for hunting was not expressed in the poem, it is doubtful that Ms. Frost, who at one time studied at the Sorbonne in Paris, needed the carcass to stock her freezer and sustain herself through a hard New England winter.
Still, many people do.
To Kill a Deer
by Carol Frost