Along the garden path,
Then down the sloping grassy hill,
A slitherer of slender form
Worked her way into the
Old grain Mill.
And there she lay curled in rest
Between the sacks that lay
Upon the cracked and crevice floor
Above the cooled dark clay.
Neither she nor the babes inside
Knew what trouble lay in store;
Just a cool dark and empty place
Is all she wanted for.
But then came the rumblings
Of the man who owned this grist,
Tromping along the wooden floor,
Counting sacks to mark upon his list.
And as the floor shook 'neath his weight,
This mother moved about
Trying to hide away from him
And looking for the best way out.
But it was not to be found
On this day of her demise,
So she coiled herself and shook her tail
As the man gasped in surprise.
He reached around and found the rake
Which lay against the wall.
And with a swing of his mighty hand, 
He plunged the rake inside them all.
The mother and her babies dead 
With no thought of their lives or pain;
For any snake that slithers into this mill
Shall meet this fate again.

The man walked back to the house
With a rattler in his grasp.
He showed it to his boy that day
And told him of the past
When a rattler found its way outside
And struck his mother down
While she was tending to the lad
As a babe laid upon the ground.
She was hanging out the wash that day,
A sunny early morn.
It was just about 3 months past
When the little boy was born.
And as she reached down to soothe her babe, 
A rattler coiled to strike.
She placed herself between the snake
And the baby boys sweet life.
The fangs sunk into her neck
And spilled the venom there
Right below her small right ear
Through the veil of her long red hair.
Nothing could be done for her
As the poison rushed to her brain.
And as she lay upon the ground,
There came a cold October rain.
The man told the tale
To warn the boy of nature's own way--
That life is given and life is taken
On any kind of day.

Kathy Lockhart
2/17/08

**inspired by Michael's text, "Rattler"**