Sleep little angel, in your cotton bed,
the one we wrought for you today,
to rest beneath your head.
The stars bequeath you doze this day
to slumber forsaking dreams,
and take beyond what things you may.
Twice the heavens opened their faultless seams
to bring upon your tired remains,
a hallucination that God deemed.
When the sun shines, darkness will drain;
the earth bathed in sunlight,
upon which you shall refrain.
The darkness is your delight,
a home to which you were born;
dreams are your victuals, which you fight
once more. For my little angel, I mourn.