Now I lick my son’s small ears.
He will eat, and grow, and fly—
one day to leave, and leave a hole:
fill my heart with mother’s woe.
So I’ll search among the skies
until I find him mated safe,
but if a crossbow finds his neck,
my smoke will rise and voice will quake:
I’ll sail the skies on winds of fears—
and dragon flames bring human tears.