You wanted to weave from cobwebs
a new bride dress
Maybe for words another sense
Thinking that they’ll keep
yourself alive forever

Woman you were within an ace
of being a good wife
However, your leg still hesitates
against your will at the last step
If you wouldn’t perceived the touch’s wear

If only in some moments, you would take care
more and focus within your flesh and skin
The concave belly starts to hit the spine
You are as non-existent in profile
Some day you’ll adopt a motherless child

If you would assumed your independence
you were close to be a good mistress
But making knot all of the sudden
the threads lost their provenance
Passion, faith, abnegation, conscience

If you would not forgot the final
of one among the hundreds stories
If you would not gummed up in slumber
once among the white thousands nights
You were within an ace of being a good mother

If you wouldn’t had a meanings disease
If you wouldn’t try at maturity to buy
from parents forgiveness for infancy’s sins
If you would ask a little less from yourself
You almost would be about to don’t regret

That soon you won’t be anymore
and you bequeath from a strange world
Only unused cobwebs
A worn-out bride dress
And pain of wounded words