We Are Here: a poem dedicated to the tigers so few in this world

In the trees we rest
In the grasses we play
A shot rings out
In the middle of the day

We protect our few young
From the creatures with no fur
Our fangs, claws, and growl
No match for their guns
Though we try to save our stripes
And tell our cubs to run
They are faster
They are more
Not intimidated by our roar

In the trees we rest
In the grasses we hunt
Escaping from the bullet
Is an impossible stunt

We've seen them take our friends
Our mates, parents, and cubs
They will never return
They will be cut up and sold
The no fur creatures
Their hearts are cold
But we're still here
Hanging on a thread
Hoping not another shot
Will leave a tiger dead

In the trees we rest
In the grasses we play
A shot rings out
In the middle of the day