"This year on Thanksgiving I will sing this song / For my songbird who flew away in the fall"

Her Name Was Patricia

My mother became more and more like a bird
Until she flew away on the twenty-third
Day of November it hurts to remember
Of Nineteen Ninety-Eight on that date I hate
Which will be the date of Thanksgiving this year

Thanksgiving comes back some years early some late
For others but never came back to me here
And yet I am thankful and appreciate
That I had the mother I had when I had
Who died singing I know because I was near
A sweet sad old song in a voice soft and clear

She thought I was gifted I thought she was great
We had nothing but it never seemed so bad
Scarce money sad sickness scant hope and no dad
My mother though frail bore the burdens of all
And showed in her death what it meant to live strong

This year on Thanksgiving I will sing this song
For my songbird who flew away in the fall

+Steven Curtis Lance



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