Tears On the Cradle

Fox glove tangos with the evening winds My little Nicole had grown What cradle doth she now lay without fatherly kiss? How is my fairest one now turned a mist that hast flown? It grieves to sing lullabies to her doll The muse grants me expressions in vain Doth heaven sparkle without family on its Beulah soil? Surely my moppet shall cloud heaven's skies with dark pain. Books of fairytales, rocking chair, pink unicorn Touch I with so feeble fingers that could not keep sleep away Cosy cradle, music box, cardboard painting of me with crayon Flays every joyous reason on this plain to abide a day. I shall pluck my strings as I tell the stars How beautiful they shine to guide memories to my head The chiming clock shall number my deepest scars With melodies that draws the weary pilgrim's feet to the end.