His face marked by folds, white hair are your wings to fly to their regressions of manufactured wool, pastries, oh and red cheek when he eats something he likes.
Between leaves of geraniums and roses, colored fabrics, needles and a yellow dress in your trunk of memories, I close my eyes and I see small ...
I still feel the smell of biscuits and chocolate in my milk, a smile so fresh in the company of tea and biscuits, I loved your wallet and your sweetness shed in your candy, lentejitas colored gooey your love and your wisdom that reflect those sky blue eyes, love each day, giving your company, heresy of life, now you're my girl ...
my mother.
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