It's been more than a year now
since your little one
left home.
I saw her leaving some monday's night,
with her yellow raincoat,
all her things in a little package,
and she was singing "I want to be happy..."
She left you over the tablecloth
his goodbye made of paper,
your little one.
She said the freckles
in her skin and in her soul were erasing,
just like her dolls' world
passed...
She passed by, fast and lightly,
like springtime
in bloom...
What will become of you, far from home?
Baby, what will become of you?
You waited, sitting on the couch,
and then in the balcony,
for your little one.
And from one end of the city to the other
you asked about her to the neighbors,
and then you hit the roads,
who knows where she might be.
And today you wonder why
one day your little one
left,
even when you gave her your whole youth,
a nice private school,
the best food,
and your love...
Your love over your knees,
trotting little horse.