Epitaph for a Lamb

A soft, delicate child laid to rest,
Insatiable beasts in dusk sordidly jest.
Barking dogs tear into tender, golden brawn.
Will they remember to remember you’re gone?
Unfledged hooves to never clatter anew,
Half-baked, snuffed potential that never grew.
Dearest ewe, do you still linger?
I sense the weight of your pulse, just not by finger.
To love is to give loss a winning odd.
For you, little lamb, I hope there is some god.