a child running and rolling down the hills
and playing Ring a Ring o' Roses
a caring mother stretching out the clothes in the sun,
and gently watching over him from afar
a father departing to work in the factories
because in the factories they need many country men
their gentle gaze that contains the warm and good words,
I love you
a man who returns home after years of breathless racing in the suburbs of the world
the love of a father and the love of a mother is like a mill,
a mill that over the years sees passing between its blades men, women, smiles and tears
like flowing water of a river in flood,
water that once passed will never be the same,
never be the same
but the mill is there and stays the same over time while everything and everyone around changes
because it knows that the navigation of children in the river of life
sooner or later will bring them back again and always at the beginning, at the true source,
back to that good heat, to that unique and original love
the love of a mother, the love of a father, who even in distance of time and space remains the same
as the mill who sees everything passing by and endures all things,
and resists the insults and outrages of the events and the years,
the cycle of the seasons and of the human beings
I mill that sustains the universe all around
for the child running and rolling down the hills and playing Ring a Ring o' Roses
and for the man who returns home after years of breathless racing in the suburbs of the world
so it has been so it is
and always will be the love of a mother and the love of a father
Marco Bo
dedicated to my parents and all the mums and dads
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