Start with the premise that I can’t stand reading anything that follows anywhere along the lines of, “I saw the glistening stippled beauty of its form inhale my meagerly tied offering, and the line went taught, and for a few brief moments the rainbow and I, our souls merged into one…” Right. (If that’s your thing, sorry man, no offense.)
In contrast, here’s some great stuff (according to me at least) from William Stafford:
Traveling through the Dark
Traveling through the dark I found a deer
dead on the edge of the Wilson River road.
It is usually best to roll them into the canyon:
that road is narrow; to swerve might make more dead.
By glow of the tail-light I stumbled back of the car
and stood by the heap, a doe, a recent killing;
she had stiffened already, almost cold.
I dragged her off; she was large in the belly.
My fingers touching her side brought me the reason—
her side was warm; her fawn lay there waiting,
alive, still, never to be born.
Beside that mountain road I hesitated.
The car aimed ahead its lowered parking lights;
under the hood purred the steady engine.
I stood in the glare of the warm exhaust turning red;
around our group I could hear the wilderness listen.
I thought hard for us all—my only swerving—,
then pushed her over the edge into the river.
[Also check out At The Bomb Testing Site]