there, dear

A mothers kiss upon a youngling's nearly hairless head - soothes me.
The lips touching only superficially the head beneath - caressing it.
Uttering the voice of property - you are mine, dear.
The youngling utters a smirk smile and shudders it head away - careless.

What are the worries of mothers? Why do they keep holding on to those small and probably unnecessary fears? Who said a mother would care for her child? Why is a bundle that has caused a lot of pain upon birthing - create so much joy in a mothers eyes? Who decided that a mother were to love her child and embrace him upon evening? Did the gods cradle sivilasation upon it's upbringing? Did the almighty among themselves, hold any of us dear - or were we a game of ponds? Does the cradle of civilisation behold a mother embracing her child fondly before allowing it out into the mindless world beyond her sphere?