A small bird, no larger than my hand,
Shielded something precious from the rain.

Concerned, I stepped closer,
Wondering what she so tenderly guarded.

Must be a mother, I thought,
From the fierce, gentle look in her eye.
The rain ceased, and the precious one meowed.

Confused, I saw the mother protect
A son not hers, a kindness
Perhaps even heaven had never known.

The kitten played and leapt,
Until a hunter came, hunger in his eyes,
Ready to devour the helpless child.

The mother wept and offered herself,
Her own life in place of the one she saved.
The hunter agreed, and thus
The virtue of kindness left the kitten orphaned.

Perhaps I would have helped—
But she never asked.
So I, unlike her,
Do not wear the angel's wings of kindness.