Speaking with the Mother

'Thou,' I say

to Mother

(She who is all this)

to give respect.

Not that we are 

used to hear

the old tongue,

but I know it.

My hand is ready

to pull from fire

what black ashes

I can

to spit at that worm

the man — but she says,

'He is My son. Learn now

to flow, be water.'

Written in response to a Words Count prompt at 'imaginary garden with real toads' in which we are asked for a poem of 60 or fewer words, using some from a list of 23 'ultraconserved' words dating from the Ice Age, which the Eurasiatic languages have in common (seeming to indicate that there was an original mother tongue). The words are: 

thou

I

not

that

we

to give

who

this

what

man / male

ye

old

mother

to hear

hand

fire

to pull

black

to flow

bark

ashes

to spit

worm