Granny, granny, slow step and your soft skin,
clinging to your rocking chair weaving the time,
embroidering love with your look
put in a corner, sad and distant waving goodbye.
Winter came again and with the cold the humidity,
the pain that memory that broke your skin
and your desire to live too.
Granny, granny, slow step and your soft skin
Granny, granny my old lady,
More than seventy and you're still pretty.
In your memory a song wanders
the serenade on a sunny Sunday
when the tear suddenly popped
and you realize that time flew.
How am I not going to remember when you were kneading at home
and played hide and seek to steal the bread from the kitchen
and on Sundays as a family we were more than twenty
surrounding the large table and the grill on the grill
wine, football after
and the famous discussions of the elders
that if the policy, that if the money,
that the cost of living increased.
That if the old dog bit one of the boys I do not know,
we always ended the same
like every Sunday, kicks.
But the next week
We went back to Grandma's house as usual.
To your house, to the house of the pretty old lady of the grandmother.
Granny, grandma ...
Only among all we can make this a better place :)