THE FLEDGING

by September 28, 2013 0 comments

Mother of the mother now,
the daughter stoops over the nest,
over the mother-child,
cocooned in white,
clasping her hands,
whispers love,
let’s go,
watches her fly away.

Soar.

editors note:

Mother life, mother ever; feathers dry, she gives us a nudge. Yes, we soar! (Thanks, Bob!) – mh

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