Mare Lola

(That's the Mama Lola story...)
When the street sleeps and the sun has not yet risen, Mother Lola already walks up and down, with the last yawn in her throat, making breakfast for her husband, getting the children out of bed so they can go to school. The day begins for her and the sun has not yet risen. Many numbers must be done, memory must be kept to make it to the end of the month. For Mother Lola, no one writes the story, it's nothing much, almost nothing.
She watches the trees on the promenade while the laundry fills up. Mother Lola... Oh, if for a moment she could, neither do nor think anything, and go off alone. But her dream always gets lost up in the attic, leaving her a pile of clothes, while people walk on the promenade and the laundry fills up. Many numbers must be done, memory must be kept to make it to the end of the month. For Mother Lola, no one writes the story, it's nothing much, almost nothing. When the street sleeps and the sun has hidden its flight, Mother Lola finally dries her hands, the children are already asleep. Mother Lola undresses at the foot of the bed, she knows her husband lies and waits for the woman. If God wants, tomorrow everything will be better, everything is fine for her. But... everything is fine for her, but...