Memories about a yellowed picture

That woman seemed to be over seventy; she was sitting on a wooden chair in front of her loom.
Her eyes were fixed on the moving wire  and her hands knew well what to do.
Her legs were firmly placed on the floor; she wore a dress decorated with tiny white flowers.
An entire life spent making textiles, working from dawn to dusk.
Poor woman, what sacrifices for her family!
A selfish man often drunk, the worst of three males.
But Providence had been good in gifting her an angel, named Lina.

I'm glad to see you kept your old-fashioned poetic style. :)

Memories about a yellowed picture

That woman seemed have over seventy; she was sitting on a wood chair in front to her loom.
Her glance was firm on the wire moving and her hands knew well how to do.
Her legs heavily were placed on the floor, she wore a dress decorated with tiny white flowers.
A entire life spent making textiles, working over dawn.
Poor woman, what sacrifices for her family.
A man selfish often drunk, three males one's worst of others.
But the providence was been good gifting her an angel named Lina