Smile slipping off your lips –
Sleep, my sonny, please.
Rose falling off the bush –
Nature’s whim, caprice.
Dreams will fly into your room
Making round dance,
Gleaming little in the gloom,
Giving you a chance
To be carried off your bed
To the splendid world,
Beckoning you far ahead,
All the sails unfurled.
By the moon and by the stars,
Through the Milky Way,
Murmuring the heaven’s names,
Floating away.
You will be among them all –
Someone else’s dream,
Someone’s future to imbue,
Someone’s song to sing…
Dream, my sonny, through the night,
Through the spell of years,
Let all better dreams be yours
Which I’ve never had.
To my son
© Copyright: Виктор Бурдин, 2013
Свидетельство о публикации №113091608937
Свидетельство о публикации №113091608937
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