She gazes down upon her infant,
Her eyes warm like sunbeams,
Her smile, the crescent moon,
Her love, the air he breathes.
Ears pricked up, like a bat’s,
she hears a cry before it blossoms,
Her feet are swift, her arms sweep quick,
To whisk her child into her bosom.
There is sugar in her kisses,
And feathers in her fingertips,
Her hair soft like the finest wool,
Stories and songs upon her lips.
She isn’t quite human-
Stronger than an ox,
Ferocious like a tigress,
More clever than the fox.
She does what she must –
She protects her kin,
Rears her cubs with a stiff paw,
But strengthens them within.
This goddess of home, and love, and life,
Yet not quite immortal she be,
When the clouds obscure the stars at night,
Her silent tears, sleeping eyes do not see.
From her arms flow unrelenting comfort,
From the tip of her tongue a whip,
From her mind, overflowing wisdom
Even with a suckling upon her hip.
This not-quite goddess, Not-quite-human,
Handmade creature of devotion,
Embodies the power and love out-poured,
the moment of her creation.
She will never stop loving, Never stop caring,
Never stop fighting, though she be blind or lame,
Her heart will ever feel the tempo our feet make
Upon earth, Til life extinguishes her flame.

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