Deer have munched
the memorial flowers
at dawn,
in twos and threes
slowly from the dark woods
they settle
on the rows of blooms.
It is
a regular feast-
a Heaven
of lilies laid out daily -
a paradise of neat chrysanthemums.
There are none to disturb them;
not any
of the recent dead can conjure
a single cell
of awareness, one atom
of indignation.
By the big industrial block
of the crematorium
up the laddered steps, the deer graze
in twos and threes -
slowly from the dark woods
they settle
on the bunched memorial flowers.