A Wolf's Milk.

There is great pity to be had
for those who go without
the love of their mothers,
who root themselves
so deeply into an Earth
that offers no fruit
to her children,
and who laugh so sadly
like wilting moths,
burnt by the open flames
of which they hope to gather warmth from.

She is cowering with her snarl,
so sickly and trampled,
never taught to feel
anything except for the weight
of survival.

But she is drowning her cub
in bitter licking

and strong stillness.

The strain of having gone
her whole life
without knowing the taste
of her mother's milk
is one that will never be eased.