Birds upon a wing, they fly ever so high
Glancing down as they see, a mother riding nigh
Her eyes are full of fire, there is heat in her chest
Her child has been hurt, damn if she is going to rest

Wolves running along the path, racing so far
Listening with their ears to the silence of the heart
Her hands tight upon her reins, her staff at her side
Damn if this mother hurt was going to run and hide

Moles under the ground, they feel the beat and beat
They feel her fury down in the ground, they can feel her heat
Her bowed lips set in a tight grimace, her head hears her song
The only tune she would be hearing is how a right came of a wrong

Fish jump here and there, splish and they do splash
The mother draws her child near, giving her rum from her stash
"Little child, cry not nigh, for these words I say to you are true
Little ones listen to their folly, give them silence as their due."

The trees sway, oak and willow in the dew
Comforting the mother and child, welcoming the two
For what is a fire unless it be ready to go and lash
Fires that burn hot and deep, love from a mother to her child do always last.

Penned by my hand on the 15th of Chronos, in the year 710 AF.