“hold on tight my child, tight, tight, very tight”.
It’s not the violet velvets,
nor the yellow cottons
that wrap you softly.
“How far is it to the dirt road?” you ask me, agitated, with your short steps,
and your little feet on tiptoe.
It’s still a long way, still a long way.
“Is it the choroche? Yes, of course,
Soroche your little mouth,
Your little soroche eyes.