Adopted Elite

The lower branch on this family tree,
I resemble the maternal side. Often,
my father speaks with my mouth.

Lithe as shadow, I
come from the earth,
not an elevated position.

I am adopted elite. Mother
no longer of child-bearing
disposition, yet father desired

an heir. To what?
Perhaps the gilt litter box,
the human butler.

Shadows slink, are grounded,
Trail just behind their leaders.
Whisper sweet counsel in an ear.