My Mom Hates Birds

My Mom Hates Birds
Mom hates birds, so she always said.
Walking the embankment, near the water’s edge;
Playing with my sister, giggling, jumping;
Near, the river’s edge.

A black cloud in the sky; flew around the wooded side.
Over the water thru the thick trees, I can’t remember?

I cannot see! I cannot see!
But I can’t remember,
The cabin in New York, remember a mere me,
I was just maybe three,

I love the sound of birds; soaring high and high.
The swishes of a single glide, oh, how I wish I might fly.
Down came the black cloud, soaring to the ground.
Screaming, go inside, go inside; screams echoed, I cried.

Black cloud covers, forehead it surrounds.
Do black birds with feathers, fly together, maybe?
As black birds pecked, blood oozed the bleeding head,
My mom hates birds; through my memories,
Oh, now I see! I remember when!