They tossed her upon a rock
After they were done with her,
To be mauled and maimed,
And thereafter scavenged.

If she knew what was afoot,
She gave no inkling of it,
As she lay perfectly still.

Perhaps it was that her limbs,
And her parched, hoarse throat,
Were done for, as was her petrified self.

And so she just lay there,
Broken, exposed, undone,
A breath away from being unborn.