A child looks at the sky, in a cradle lying.
Little hands move, twisting and turning.
In front of his eyes, pass a butterfly.
Close to the baby, an angel smiling to the cry.
In the air, hands play with the wind,
Diverting himself with bird’s songs behind
But on the cradle, Morpheus leaves a veil
To the dream’s land flees the baby so frail
A finger to his mouth the angel commands
As the Sun hides his rayons behind the lands.