A Stag's Lament

You might think me noble and grand,
An animal graceful and fine.
But things often do go unplanned
With antlers as big as mine.

Many others greatly admire
The horns upon my head.
But the truth is I would be a liar
If "They're great!" is what I said.

You see they're quite the hardship
To carry round my whole life.
They feel as big as a starship
Causing nothing but strife.

Let's start with the first quandary
Of all the things antlers catch.
When someone line dries their laundry,
Hats, underwear and the rest attach.

Do you know that others will snicker?
They're hard to remove, you know.
It's awkward dragging round knickers
When you're trying to talk to a doe.

Antlers can be quite ungainly
And they're not very good for my balance.
Really, to just put it plainly,
Horns like mine require some talents.

But what really brings tears to my eyes, 
What gives my depression a boost,
All the wrens, bluebirds and magpies
Who will use my head as a roost.

I get no regard from small varmints,
Who should be respectful and meek.
You'd think they had gear and a harness
When climbing my horns like Pike's Peak.

The mean squirrels call me cruel names,
Yelling "coat rack", "prong head" to debase,
Throwing nuts tween my horns as a game,
Which hurt as they bounce off my face.

I guess things could always be worse-
Having three horns would have stunk.
Others could find me averse,
And treat me like they all do the skunk...