Shaken by the wildness of the good

In the war the artist made small maps
For  agents  dropped   in  occupied terrain
Then she bore her child with love  that gripped
And took her  like  kind armies might a town

Shaken by the wildness of  the good
She  let new life begin within her womb
Yet  those who’re occupied by what is bad
Will create not life but  their own tomb

The feminine, the artist soul,  the cup
Containers  made to hold  and so create
Can they  judge when passion takes a grip
The nature  fierce that  longs  and wills to mate?

As occupation by an egoistic force
Can make us sinful humans truly cursed