A deer gallops through the suburb.
Untouched, yet out of place.
She pants and smells every herb.
This is not her usual space.
The unfamiliar coddles her,
She feels almost safe in this cut and paste.
What to make of it, she is not sure.
She only knows she feels no haste.
There is no gunshots,
Only the sound of a falling pin
This place of still robots.
She does not fit in.
Primitive Poetry 
I can see the deer wandering up a city street, not quite sure where she is supposed to be. I hope that she makes it back to her safe home soon.
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This one was all about imagery to me. Almost a sort of post-apocalyptic setting where the deer is slowly moving into the neighborhood where humans once were, but no longer reside. It’s been long enough that she can move there, but not long enough for her to feel completely safe.
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