3.

my mother was a sparrow singing her summer songs
and long ago had pushed me
from the nest.

the clouds streaked by like trains,
the wind was in a hurry and left its shoes behind,
flying from tree to tree my mother blossomed.

branches burst forth and forth,
my little eyes spit out the sky,
my little songs fell in the shape of little stones.

my mother was a sparrow singing up a storm.
I was amazed and could not follow suit
until today.