These sobs have never stopped and tears still flow
as dripping leaves after a summer's storm;
this wailing son has lost his joy to sorrow
refusing to be consoled; today, your favorite flowers
I lay on your grave and leave you lovely prayers
by the silver cross for you to read and feel warm
on winter's lonely and cold days
that will drift into the sun's fading glow.
This waltz is for you, mother smiling from Heaven...
and I will dance it while the robins
and larks watch, thinking I am mad to have chosen
a place of mourning and tranquility
with cypresses offering a pleasant breeze;
would I do this if I didn't love you truly?
Very, very long ago you took my small hand
and slowly and tenderly taught me how to dance
on a meadow covered with yellow and white daisies;
there was no music, but humming birds sang
the simplest song they ever knew as the gentle wind caressed our sunlit heads
beneath the August sky traversed by torrid clouds that escaped to other seas.
This waltz is for you, mother living in that place of delight,
oh, smile with the same tenderness and care of heart;
would any other desire be more intense
than being together and happily dance
that waltz without pausing...sweetly losing ourselves in idyllic fantasy
and explore happiness in unimaginable ways to shun painful reality?