I drive down windy little roads
Seeing the elegiac critters
Painting the yellow lines
With gore and cries—
Such is seen everyday.
I wish to cradle these
Sad little souls;
I’ll rub their bellies,
And feed them crackers.
I wish to watch them
Grow older,
Older than me.
Even if they may never get the chance—
They deserve clean water,
And supple fruits.
I wish to hear them squeak and squawk
Hellos and goodbyes.
Relishing in the gentle embrace of the wind,
And the sweet smelling flowers in tall grass.
I feel a motherly part of me,
Weep seeing my beautiful—now dull—babies.
Reluctantly looking away,
Feeling a sob scrape its way from my throat.
With such ephemeral lives,
I want to scoop them up
Into my arms.
My sweetest baby,
My dearest joy,
Reduced to dirty ichor on the side of the road.