Mere Rioca De Sange

In this longing note
To my mother from long long ago.
In this longing note
To my mother from many years ago
    in this fine memory.

She carried rose
In her little wallet in her old bag.
She carried rose
That withered and began to wither,
    wilt, and sag.

As the roads fell
And the towers began to fall all down.
As the roads fell
And thus she thought she had lost it all,
    as it all was raining down.

In this longing note
To my mother from long long ago.
In this longing note
To my mother from many years ago
    in this fine memory.

In this fine memory.
A mother that lost it all,
Years ago.