Oh Deer, Sir Kier

Son of a toolmaker Kier
Now wants to kill deer

Dear deer-killer Kier
Oh dear
What’s this new frontier?

Venison for tea
For every detainee
Of His Majesty?
While lunchers at school
Or in hospital
Pick shot from their teeth?
Good grief

The poor deer, in fear
Chased on horse by a peer
Then shot in the ear
Or maybe pursued
By a volunteer
With a spear
Not a good idea, Kier

You’ll learn
We await your u-turn
With bated breath
We guess you have
A couple left