Blue eyes, Hair like the crimson sun
that sinks below the African horizon.
Tears like opalescent ribbons trace his cheeks
and he watches the autumn leaves tumble downward.
Do not cry, little innocent, for the leaves are reborn,
they are at peace on the soft ground they rest upon.
He watches the stars and his angel-blue eyes glow
while the soft-spoken darkness surrounds him like a halo.
Hush, child, for one day, when you are old and frail
You will soar among the stars and whisper the language of night.
