My Daugther

More about My Daugther

Why sleep, my son?
the sunset burns no more:
there is no more shine than dew,
whiter than my face.

Why sleep, my son?
the path became silent:
no one moans but the river;
nothing exists but me.

The plain was drowned in fog.
The blue sigh shrank.
has posed as a hand
on the world the stillness.

I was not only rocking
to my child in my singing:
to Earth I was sleeping
the swaying of cradling...