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In verdant fields where shadows dance,
A herd of deer, in nature's trance,
Their silent grace, a sight to see,
In unity, they roam so free.
One felled by fate's capricious hand,
Yet quickly do they understand,
The order of this worldly stage,
Where life gives way to mortal age.
No tears they shed, no heart they wring,
To fleeting loss they do not cling,
For in the cycle they abide,
In harmony with nature's tide.
Oh, wretched man, how different we,
Who nurse our wounds so tenderly,
We dwell on pain, we drag our grief,
In search of solace, no relief.
We burden hearts with heavy stones,
And hold the past in anguished tones,
In losing sight of nature's plan,
We wander lost, a fleeting span.
Yet might we learn from silent deer,
To face our fate and persevere,
Accepting loss with quiet grace,
And finding peace in life's embrace.