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Rated: E · Poetry · Animal · #2284862
poem of the Tigress.


My forest is not safe
Nor is my home
O' hunter don't shoot
My cubs are alone.

My teeth and skin may be precious
For my little cubs
my milk is more precious.

They are only two weeks old,
very little and weak
Let me feed them,
and put them to sleep.

They have not opened their eyes
And are yet to see their mom
O' hunter don't shoot
Don't you have a loving mom?
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