“Poor my dear mother/whichever misfortunes I have given him”, is an old subject, that it presents/displays a repentance of
the son, who when he is greater just
understands the sacrifices of his good mother. “
Whichever times hidden, crying sad and won/in a corner I have found it”. Not love reaches all of world to offer it it to mother, because he is the being who I rock nine months to us in its belly, it educated to us and it protected as a fierce one takes care of to its puppies when éramos children and even though one is greater is continued worrying about its children. He is only being in the world that pardons everything to us, includes/understands to us and it encourages to us, still after dead. Until the most tyrant man one inclines before his mother; by her it is all love. “As you know viejita what you hardship protests/left on the bed prolijita well ironed the favorite shirt you/…”, Héctor Gagliardi says to us. There is no a human being I solicit more that a mother. When they are adolescent not to duer itself to me until their puppies return to the nest, because I want to see them, to caress them, to advise them; a mother is a permanent balsam, does not have fissures as the rest of the s you are human, when there is an adversity, is first that is going to the front to solve the disadvantage. A mother is a single-breasted uniform jacket without sword, is a soldier without gun; but so that she wants it? , if she does not do any lack to him, it has the best one of the shields: the anger. I have not known mother who becomes weak, because she knows that she must be the example for its children and their home. Untiring worker, always it needs the time, does not reach the day to him, because it stays occupied permanently. A mother is as the dawn always brings new hopes. Its love is inexhaustible.