józsef attila - mama

It's been a week now, thinkin' 'bout my mama, Pausing every now and then, ain't no drama. With a creakin' basket in her lap, She'd head up to the attic, quick as a snap. I was still an honest soul, raisin' a fuss, Yellin' and stompin', makin' a ruckus. "Leave that heavy laundry for another, Take me up to the attic, dear mother." She'd just go, hangin' clothes in silence, No scoldin', not even a glance in defiance. And the clothes, they shone and swayed, Dancin' in the wind, up high they played. I wouldn't whine now, but it's too late, I see now, how grand she was, oh so great – Her gray hair flutterin' in the sky so wide, Mixing bluin' in the heavens' tide.