The doorbell rings.
I made a stride, I hear a knock.
A package, the mail man brings.
Stamps and brown paper,
And writing and string.
Inside, I found a note and a feather.
It read such a peculiar thing.
"When you were little I would hold your hand,
And tuck you into bed.
I came running at your demand,
Listened to whatever you said."
"In the clouds, the birds are free
Soaring through the endless sky.
There is one last thing you can do for me,
Spread your wings and learn to fly."
A final attempt to throw me a rope,
So her child can have a life that’s complete.
She said I was her only hope,
To have faith in something that’s concrete.