Sappho's Lullaby

Sappho's Lullaby by Michael R. Burch for Jeremy Hushed yet melodic, the hills and the valleys sleep unaware of the nightingale's call while the dew-laden lilies lie listening, glistening... this is their night, the first night of fall. Son, tonight, a woman awaits you; she is more vibrant, more lovely than spring. She'll meet you in moonlight, soft and warm, all alone... then you'll know why the nightingale sings. Just yesterday the stars were afire; then how desire flashed through my veins! But now I am older; night has come, I'm alone... for you I will sing as the nightingale sings. Keywords/Tags: Sappho, lullaby For a Ukrainian Child, with Butterflies by Michael R. Burch Where does the butterfly go... when lightning rails... when thunder howls... when hailstones scream... when winter scowls... when nights compound dark frosts with snow ... where does the butterfly go? Where does the rose hide its bloom when night descends oblique and chill, beyond the capacity of moonlight to fill? When the only relief’s a banked fire’s glow, where does the butterfly go? And where shall the spirit flee when life is harsh, too harsh to face, and hope is lost without a trace? Oh, when the light of life runs low, where does the butterfly go? Midnight Lullaby by Michael R. Burch I. A measureless rhythm rules the night— few have heard it, but I have shared it, and its secret is mine. To put it into words is as to extract the sweetness from honey and must be done as gently as a butterfly cleans its wings. But when it is captured, it is gone again; its usefulness is only that it lulls to sleep. II. So sleep, my love, to the cadence of night, to the moans of the moonlit hills’ bass chorus of frogs, while the deep valleys fill with the nightjar’s shrill, cryptic trills. But I will not sleep this night, nor any; how can I—when my dreams are always of your perfect face ringed by soft whorls of fretted lace, framed by your perfect pillowcase? Final Lullaby by Michael R. Burch for my mother, Christine Ena Burch Sleep peacefully—for now your suffering’s over. Sleep peacefully—immune to all distress, like pebbles unaware of raging waves. Sleep peacefully—like fields of fragrant clover unmoved by any motion of the wind. Sleep peacefully—like clouds untouched by earthquakes. Sleep peacefully—like stars that never blink and have no thoughts at all, nor need to think. Sleep peacefully—in your eternal vault, immaculate, past perfect, without fault.