Paula draws the counterpane gently
and settles in sleep's misty close.
Lazily I drift to the largo of her inspiration.
At the desk lies a book
unevenly parted by
my left hand,
I read the legend:
"Absolute Freedom and Terror"
A nimbus parts the son's hair.
His head settles a copse's lassitude.
Mother is the soft moss he rests upon.
The counterpane, a softer lid, covers eyes.
A shadow show murmurs 'til Father stirs.