Cradle

So gently as a sigh,
She slept in her cocoon;
Tiny marbles of eyes,
It was a solemn seclusion;

She saw not lit but dim,
Yet she wrote in joyful colors;
I am her clown by her crib,
Cradling her by my arms forlorn;

Littling raindrops fall,
She plays a sonnet with her fingers;
The avid clock dare not stall,
Her childly jubilation lingers;

A day is less worth than this moment,
I could only surpass time;
My offspring will never live in torment,
She will always be called mine.