I would thank to anyone who can correct my little story

One day my mother took Black Boy into her palms, checked its wing and leg, “It seems that you have recovered; now you must fly Black Boy!” she said. Raven listened attentively to my mother as though it had understood what my mother had wanted to say to it, but didn’t do anything except turning back to its nest. “Okay, it seems that you have no intention to fly and go wilds. “We should, then, ignore you till you fly over us!” she said, stopped caring and giving food and drink to it, and kept us from paying attention to it. “So it wouldn't die of hunger if it didn't eat anything?” I asked. “Don't worry, it won't! It should have flown by now,” she replied. “Isn’t that right lazy boy?” she pointed to the Raven. What my mother had said came true. When the Raven had been up for a day, it started to feel rather peckish, and began to wander shyly around my mother and begged her to give it something to eat. My mother took a handful of seeds in one hand and the Raven into other went out to the porch and spread the seeds out down in the court yard. Following this, my mother opened up her palms and released it to the ground gently on the porch, “Now you should feed yourself and not die of hunger in the garden,” my mother remarked. It was the last day of March and there was a heavy blanket of snow outside. As soon as it was out on the porch, trudged in the heavy snow, pecked at something in the snow, swallowed some, and then it opened its wings and stretched them, pumping blood into its muscles. After having done enough exercise, it walked to the edge of the porch, and then, threw itself into the air. After a few despairing flaps, it fell to the ground; it was exhausted. A perfect white snow, the all black raven, looked like a small all black speck upon a newly spread all white piece of sheet. For the first time, I realized that I was attached to it with a very strong emotional tie, and though, it was seemingly bad to let it go, by the same token, I hoped good for it for future in life. As I made a lunge at it, my mother grabbed my arm, "let it alone and see what it can do," she said. She had prevented me. Raven turned towards my mother nodded twice, trudged again in the snow, and then it struggled for final desperate flaps to fly again. This time it succeeded. It flew high over us, took a round over us, caw a few times with its bass voice and perched a branch of the medlar tree never falling down. We rushed to the garden to follow it. Black Boy was now free and again a wild bird. “I wish you the best in life Black Boy,” my mother cried, “remember this door will always be open to you,” she added, turned back, and started walking towards the house.