Poetry

When tender is the night, and the woods are deep
And the only light - as Orion's - piercing the dark, 
Gazing a child in his sleep - child whomever he fears 
He wishes he has gone, and left him to his sound sleep.
The river near is dark - not even dogs dare to bark - 
And it's too far from any park - no wetness, no seep.
A child, who is left to a deathly sleep - still being mild
But the morn is far - too far to being left, way behind.
And Time! Oh Time! How dare you give a child
Endlessly sleep and those woods a languor that's oh so deep? 

At dawn when life at woods again is dry, 
And no reason is left to stay in the sky, 
Orion takes care the child who now eternally sleeps, 
The child sees someone - or something - dim: 
A light - a palm that caresses him!