© 2021 Barbara Grace Lake

I am her keeper
I warn, I nag I surround
If wounded, I will bleed
If wounded deeply I can die
I am her conscience
She leans on me for rightness
Though often denied
And often called by epithets
When I say no
The last of me will only be
When she exists no more
If I’ve done well
I comfort those she leaves
Who mourn for her
I am her keeper.