The Shrew

Timid and prudent, sneaking about,
She takes her time to keep low,
Her foes count in the dozens,
far more than she will ever know.

Decorously, she forages in cover,
Havering, skittishly and au fait,
Each meager meal a triumph
bringing purpose to the day.

Her tiny ears, more fine than her hair,
Sense a sudden silence in the trees,
Breaking her decorum suddenly,
She vanishes like the breeze.