Mother Says Get On With It Poem by Mark Heathcote

Tell me how many attempts does it take?
To spread these wings to find my buoyancy
Trembling at the thought of falling, I quake
Mother says get on with it, poignantly.

Tell me where I must go and when I should leave
Son follows your nose wherever it goes
Take to the air; see what you can achieve—
Gather all your strength up before it snows.

I've cried so hard, I'm now, newly baptised
'Robin-redbreast', here her heart agonised
I've brooded, long enough now about what is best
Mother says get on with it, leave my breast.

Go, go and join those other—dispossessed
I've done well, by you, now do well by me.
Head north-west son or even head south-west
But by me do your very, very best.