A playful young fellow
Like a roller coaster
Always moving around
Quick like a squirrel
To point fingers
Like being made
Of butter
I slip out of the grabbing
Hands of trouble
I was called Butterman
Burning important
Documents into ashes
“He’s just a kid” they say.
Could not be blamed for anything
Living in Paradise
Until playtime was over
A baby calf left in the wild
Nowhere to run. Hearing the Lion’s roar.
Living in the thorns of life
Miserable and teeth gnashing life.
Like a Cow saving its
Calf from a pit
And coming out safe from
The pit of life and
Dwelling safe in trusted hands.