Once long ago, the small girl fit into a drawer at night to sleep. No crib, so they made due; a drawer, in reach of sleeping mother, easily accessible but safe.
The girl got older, and could not be protected with such ease as she stepped out into the world. When she fell into some nasty, rusty wiring, she was not so small any more. As the blood poured from her leg, mother bundled her like the baby once more and ran...ran about a mile to the doctor. The car was inaccessible that day, and so she ran, remembering the babe who once had lain in the drawer, so easily accessible and safe.
The girl got older still, and could not be protected with such ease as she herself ran...and ran, and ran. Fleet of foot and full of grace, she ran for competition. She'd twist an ankle out there running, and come limping home. Mother held her as she cried, finding her feet would not carry her, at least for a little while. But she was home now, and mother would take care of her, make sure everything she needed was easily accessible for the daughter she loved: the radio, a can of pop, some suntan oil. She would lay out in the sun, warm: safe, at least for now.
When the pretty girl, whom by now was loved by all who knew her, got into a car that night after a meet, mother thought, 'No, not so easily accessible but safe--safe with him; he'll keep her safe.'
But he didn't.
And now, she lays in a nearby grave; sleeping, so easily accessible...