The silence of the birds… flying their own way.
In different trees, each has a cozy nest of their own.
Once or twice a year, they get to share the sky at the same time,
but they still fly with their own flock.
From time to time, their paths cross.
With a subtle glance, they can tell they are growing
and there on the horizon, the only exchange is a silent knowing.
Below the whitest cloud, they recognize one another,
quiet, yet invisibly woven as a child to its the mother.
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