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My mother came to Earth,
In the hope
To break the bad and the good sewing,
Scissors and needle in hand.
His quest to qualify
Rainbow and tenderness
He made a garden of hope
From which sprang three lavender,
That force coo,
Balsamic hands,
Circumvent the voyages of the past.
What stuff!
These hearts
They were not humble
Or simple
As she had hoped.
Today,
The gray days are gone
And our souls will reunite ...
Mother,
Now you no worries!
Laugh of life
Forget the diets,
And harvest the flowers with verses of love
That was never written in vain
by: RENÉ CHACÓN LINARES
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