Little ladybird on a leaf
Munching, mulling, pauses;
Savouring her short sweet life.

Happy in this house
Whose humans have filled it
With green plants
And over the years,
Three small people
One for each spot
On the ladybird’s red back.

She likes it here.
The only danger
Is the smallest small human
Who tugs at the leaves
And the ladybird’s wings
Unless his mother intervenes.
Scolding, crying, shouting:
The ladybird has learnt to wait
For the calm of weekdays
When the humans go away.

Or mostly.
But some afternoons
The lull is broken.
The mother comes home
Paces, glancing
At her watch,
Out the bay window.
No doorbell.
An evasive visitor
Led away from the ladybird,
To the rooms above.

Then different noises
Unlike the small humans’ playing:
muffled.
The mother, after, ruffled.

Litte ladybird on her leaf
Munching, mulling, pauses;
Savouring her short sweet life.
The house may catch fire
But where would she fly to?
This is home; this was her home.