Passing birds

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 red tinge in eyes.

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

Mothers are our words in us.
Words are our passing birds.

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