A mother’s blood pumps loud each day
Her primal instincts take her.
She watches; careful as they play.
From sentry, none will shake her.
And in the darkness and the light
Her ears are always perking
At each specific cadence slight,
To pounce at prowlers lurking.
On this, a lonely tresspasser
Comes bumbling through the fold.
His bootstraps whistle past her
As he seeks his treasure gold.
His scent convinces her of sin;
The blood-fear prickles deep within.
She strikes. She rips. He stumbles.
“hel..” her victim starts to plea,
But blood drowns out his sanity.
His remnants fertilize a tree;
A story old,
Through every mother’s glare...
She pads away in proudness.
Duty done for those in-care.