My mother was right but how did she know
How did she speak of the places I'd go
With intricate detail she'd planted her words
Carried like shadows by taciturn birds
In them and their silence I quieted mine
Rested my head on the backs of their spines
Sleepy and silent I took up my wings
I flew to the outskirts of everything
Biting my tongue to the people I saw
The ones in the middle, the warmest of all
The message I harbored was meant to be shown
But only to those who are not on their own
Verbally challenged and mentally worn
Remembered my mother, of whom I was born
*Follow the patterns you see on the wind
Feather the weather to end and begin