When a deer crossed my path
Well then that was a blessing But when it devoured my rose
Then I knew it could be a curse
This nemesis of the rose in spring
And should I again meet him
Under greening bough at dusk
It is more than a pound of flesh
I shall warrant will be taken
For I shall have his haunch
And it will be venison for tea
And poor Mr Shakespeare
Alas, only a tragedy
Will you write this year
