Every time I see a feather, if it's pure white.
I think it's Mum, making sure that I'm alright.
So I look down at the feather and say 'hello'
And I tell my Mum, where I am about to go.

Because I know my Mum is watching over me.
From Heaven, she can see all there is to see.
Or Mum could be a Robin, from Heaven flown.
But I think she's a feather, into my path blown.

I've seen white feathers in many strange places.

And I've seen Robins, disguising their faces.
Whether Robin or feather, thanks either way.
For keeping an eye on your son, every single day.