Cradle Security
Cradles secured by mothers in the
pastel colored nurseries and the
mothers of the private lairs
dug deep into the earth and mothers
of the nests hidden by the elm tree leaves
that hide the doors to her chicks,
mothers with stalwart spirits, mothers of
tender compassion, mothers with
soft voices and lullabies in their hearts,
mothers converted into heroines with
foresighted instincts ingrained in their spirits,
mothers with their hearts glued
to the hearts of their young,
matriarchs in command of the family,
mothers with their martyrish instincts,
mothers prepared to go to war with
their sharpened tongues, their keen eyes,
theirs tears molded into bullets,
the perfume distilled into venom,
their battle ready plan in order,
their hearts hardened by defensive impulses,
their hyper-sensitive noses sensing danger,
their muscles flexed, their paws
converted into razor-sharp swords,
their arsenals full of steam and vigor,
their vigilant ears fully employed,
their fighting skills ingrained in their spirit,
and their battle ready spirit in order.
And so tender are her tears
that fall upon her young.
So warm are her smiles that shower them.
So graceful are her arms that cradle them.
So sturdy that they became.
So secure is the nest she made.
So protective that she became to her young.
So commendable for the way she honors
the instinct of motherhood and
preserves the life of the species.
God bless all mothers.
