The life that I lead

Creeps on a crutch:

The tight but tender

Hand of Mom's Love


Protecting me endlessly

Here in her nest

The Hand handles my head

Since Mother knows best


It's this Hand that feeds

This Hand that supplies

But meanwhile it also

Impedes and deprives


For it grips firmly,

Senseless to time,

Held fast to the belief

That I'm still three feet high


When I had no power

To think for myself

To stretch for that worm jar

On top of the shelf


But the Hand would come

To provide and protect

Selflessly giving

Is what it does best


And so I grew older

Yet the Hand did not see

It continued to give

What it thought best for me


But those days are long gone

And now it's my time

To fly on my own 

And make my own life


I know that you'd love me

To recline in your nest

Mother knows well, 

But experience is best






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