I’ve always dreamed of writing a song about my mom.

But different poets have already said all the words.

And I wouldn’t want to repeat any of them.

I’ll always be a little boy by my mom’s side.

And as soon as she calls, I’ll run over quickly.

That’s why I wrote these words to her, as best I could.

Mom, forgive me for growing up,

And forty‑three autumns have already passed

Since I first saw my home.

Mom, can I come to see you tomorrow?

And we’ve spent hours in the kitchen,

talking about all sorts of things.

Maybe I started to understand her a bit late,

and I didn’t often give her flowers on her birthday,

and there were times when I didn’t call her for weeks.

But now, when she hugs me,

and together with Dad she asks something about her granddaughter,