Mud and Stings

Three wasps or hornets (I'm not clear) Once stung my brother in his ear. In memory, I hear his cries Of shock and pain and pure surprise. A horde of moms wiped off the blood And slathered on a coat of mud, An act my brother did endure, Intuiting a soothing cure. My bro was fine; the stings all healed Yet what this incident revealed Was how those women somehow knew, Together, just what they should do. Those moms are either old or dead But what they did stuck in my head. Communal help for one in need Is recollection-worth, indeed.