To my daughter Adele

As a child, you slept near me, pink and fresh,
Like a baby Jesus dozing in his crib;
Your pure sleep was so calm and lovely
That you didn’t hear the bird sing in the shadows;
I, thoughtful, sucked in all the dark sweetness
From the mysterious firmament.

And I listened to the angels fly over your head;
And I watched you sleep; and on your nappies
I plucked the leaves of jasmines and carnations noiselessly;
And I prayed, watching over your closed eyelids;
And my eyes were wet with tears, thinking about things
Who await us in the night.

One day my turn will come to sleep; and my bed,
Made of shadow, will be so dreary and so fierce
Nor will I hear the bird sing;
And the night will be dark; then, oh my dove,
Tears, prayer and flowers, you will return to my grave
What I did for your crib.