Flickering Lights

She's turning 21 this year,

she'll be earning her degree in no more than a month.

She's in the middle of making decisions about her future.

She's open minded, a little liberated.

She's single.

She's sometimes, or rather most of the times, emotionally unstable.

She's loved. She can't doubt about it.

She's the youngest.

She's not that used to responsibilities.

She's almost independent. Always on the go.

She lives the way she wants to.
She's impatient and too far from being compassionate.

She's turning 68 in no more than three months.

She's a mother for thirteen, and a grandmother of sixteen.

She's funky and smart, strong, and faithful.

She's a widow.

She cooks, take care of the laundry, tends to everything broken.

She lives simply.

She loves knowledge and wisdom.

She laugh and dance and sing a lot.

She lives for her children.

She stays at home. She loves it there.

They are two important light.
When the other goes off, the other one shines.

They are two different woman.

When the other go north, the other one goes south.

They are two wonderful part of the house.

When they're together the men of the house can't be more grateful.

But too much of being the light of the house.

Now it's flickering.

The other light light is so new, she doesn't even know how to shine.

The other one's a little old, and wonders when He will turn it out.

There's nothing but a flickering light.

And it's a little dark.

In the middle of this storm

I wonder, when will their home shine again.