Their Home, Not Ours.

The soft footsteps of a mother,
Her child so tiny,
Cuddled to it’s mother for warmth,
She so unaware,

That her child might not survive,
In our world, an overgrown mass of humans,
Dominating the earth,
With not a care in the world.

Bulldozers and cranes,
Invading lush, green land,
Because they do not see the beauty,
Blinded by dollar signs.

The mother tiger and her cub,
Running from their homes,
The baby carried by his scruff,
But is it too late?