The Little Ox

In her mother’s womb she wrestled.
Her bag of waters made
Of hearty fibers, almost
In a mermaid’s purse, she’s born.

Black hair is spiked, blue eyes are wide,
Mama could barely hold
In her delight at this new child,
Not fraught with any frailty.

With powers so full since that first day,
A little ox, with beauty
Out and inside charm, infectious
Charm and devilish laugh.

A will un-bent by outside things.
Alarming sobs when things
Aren’t right. Big roars to match in any
Fight, she crawls and grabs

And pulls down loot from tables, tubs.
Watch out!


Created in response to the Writing 201 ballad/hero assignment. The featured image is “Baby” by Gustav Klimt painted in 1917-1918. The original can be found in the National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C. All works by Klimt (1862-1918) are in the public domain.