A shadow lost
In the darkened room
She stalks a quarry
No one else sees
And cannot rest.
It flees (we guess)
One step ahead,
Never secure
From her stealthy tread
Past dusty books
On dusty shelves.
Duty weighs
On her furrowed brow,
Guarding her people,
Guarding her nest,
For heros aren’t just
At the front of parades;
They’re also found
At midnight posts
With no one around
To depend upon
But their furry selves.
