The sound of mornings
after a stormy, feverish night,
Mother tells me to listen
to the chirping outside.
I sit up from my sick bed;
when the birds sing, she says,
everything will be okay,
and all pain will be gone.
Now, I reach down to embrace her.
Mother, she feels small in my arms,
but it is she who holds me
in my aching bones;
the smell of her hair,
and the warmth in her eyes,
I find my way home.
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