Pooh
A little of our best times
Eleonora, my mother
(Facchinetti-D´Orazio)
Among the old things that dress
20 years long yours
as then beautiful with the laces
no longer white with age.
Woman, you are my mother, I discover for the first time
I am spying on you from the door among your old things.
The emotion falls into the thoughts
of your tired reality
clearly that memory makes its way
between fantasy and age.
A dull smile on your tired face
is what remains of a life never lived, always awaited too long now.
Your ancient disappointment
among the first wrinkles already appears
untie your long hair, why
have I never seen you so beautiful?
You were already my mother too soon
and only by fate,
with not even the time it takes
to learn to make love.
Woman never but without regrets,
the renunciation of your time, your only reason always me.
How can I now awaken you from the pain of memories,
from the nostalgia of days now lost.

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