“Berthe Morisot’s ‘The Cradle’”
Her baby girl; her sleeping child is here
and breathless mother watches as she dreams.
Her tiny mouth moves just to share the air;
in twinkling innocence, her young face beams.
An angel’s here; her sleeping star is near.
All nature listens for the slightest sound.
And all the world is silent just to hear
each moment of her beating heart resound.
Her precious daughter yawns and then she sleeps
and all the realm of nature cannot best
this miracle. She slumbers as she peeps
with mother’s gentle sway, her babe’s at rest.
Outshines the stars, this being full of grace
as mother rocks her cradle mid the lace.