Mothers are birds of a passage

Mom now is a lake by a tree
Inspecting shadows of birds

As birds pass their shadows,
Words are shadows of birds.

My dear, take care of a face
Sitting on high strung neck

You may trip to lose a head
If there is anger in the eyes.

Birds shit lake’s rocks white.
Lake passes their shadows.

Moms  are our words in us.
They are birds of a passage.

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