Walking down my mind’s lane,
I saw my mother cry.
Every night it happened the same,
And I always asked – why?
Then I had been seven or eight,
For father I saw her wait and wait.
Came the sun and still no sight,
Her day was dark, being so bright.
Daily I saw her cooking for us,
Cleaning and washing, and nothing for her.
She went to the shop, on the local bus,
Taking food – for his hunger.
Turning nine or ten, I watched him go,
Leaving my mother – ‘why’, I don’t know.
After couple years, I saw him again,
With a new lady, and also children.