In the cradle

In a hammock of bird trills
in a lace cradle,
the child sleeps, dozes asleep,
and this child is mine.
Mint, hops and lungwort
entwine the cradle
and in a dream he will dream
lungwort or hops.

On a summer morning, early-early,
in the sky is a thin month blue.
Sleep, child, in the waves of fog
under muslin silence,
in a lacy cradle.

At the head of the cradle
bells ringing white.
The child sleeps, sleeps,
holding a palm under the cheek.
And on light eyelashes
the star fluff flies around,
and in a dream he will dream
like star fluff flies.

On a summer morning, early-early,
the blue moon is melting in the sky.
Sleep, child, in the waves of fog
under muslin silence,
in a lacy cradle.

Early, early summer morning
on the verge of vanity
the sun is in the sky,
in the river - ducks,
children and flowers in a slumber.
Early-early summer morning
the sweetest dream.
Sleep, child, in the waves of fog
holding your palm under your cheek,
holding a palm under the cheek.