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.