lurching through forests of white spruce and cedar,
stumbling through tamarack swamps,
came the bull moose
to be stopped at last by a pole-fenced pasture.
Too tired to turn or, perhaps, aware
there was no place left to go, he stood with the cattle.
They, scenting the musk of death, seeing his great heas
like the ritual mask of a blood god, moved to the other end
of the field, and waited.
The neighbours heard of it, and by afternoon
cars lined the road. The children teased him
with alder switches and he gazed at them
like an old, tolerant collie. The woman asked
if he could have escaped from a FAir.
The oldest man in the parish remembered seeing
a gelded moose yoked with an ox for plowing.
The young men snickered and tried to pour beer
down his throat, while their girl friends tok their pictures.
And thebull moose let them stroke his tick-ravaged flanks,
let them pry open his jaws with botles, let a giggling girl
plant a little purple cap
of thistles on his head.
New end
But after a while his surrounders become disinterested
and go home to their cozy, warm houses.
Nobody except a few, care anymore
about the helpless bull moose, who got caught in their own nets.
The few people left behind, cut up the fence
and free the animal out of his jail.
Put anticetics and bandages on his wounds,
help him to recover from humanity's influence.
Even though most people shut their eyes,
there are always ones, standing up for nature's rights.
Explanation
I chose an almost happy ending.
My end is about people who handle as they do because of their beliefs and don't care about being mainstream, but the the world's flow.
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