Don’t fall, don’t cry, and please don’t worry

the evening meal flavors the great domain

rain hammers at the glass, sparks in the stove

little boy can taste the delicacies of evening.

School is done for the day, homework will come

then sleep in the cozy down bed, close to the door

almost to ensure escape, from the second floor

warm, fragrant of forgotten aromas of old.

The chair is high, near the dinner table

little and frail, ancient as he can see

she is as a ballerina juggling with balance

is it worthwhile for an old tin can?

The dish is not from home, like on vacation

a stone’s throw from there, of love and care

she knows what he likes, she never fails

perhaps she too dreamed of this today.

Early she went to the garden, she peeled, she cooked

she sowed, and she cleaned, and swept, and forgot

to rest her old frail bones, one by one screaming

as help did not come, woman, although not sure;

She gave him his blood, and much more in her love

rarely her lips smiled, but she had to know

she had to know what happiness she made

when she saw his big black eyes devour the soup.