Wish I could remember the nights,
(Oh, those old days, those old nights!)
The nights I cried and moaned out loud,
Little as I was, newborn child.
Through imagination I see
That baby, I, little baby
Fearful, maybe, of the unknown;
Hopeless, he feels, and so alone.
Then his eyes cry, a whole tears’ sea
And his shout wakes deaths and neighbors.
“Somebody, (so he thinks, I guess)
Please come, anybody, attend my plea!”

So I imagine, perhaps it happened,
I, the baby laying, crying.

In the middle of his own hell
And, just as in Dante’s tale,
The baby is losing all his hopes,
But there she comes! There she comes!
She… she is the one who is always there,
The one who hugs, the one who loves,
The one who dares
To come to him, to me, at all hours
All seven days.

The baby, the little baby,
I, while laying beneath blankets,
Can only see her narrow eyes,
Eyes so deep, deep and wise,
Ebony, telling me no lies
And though red, her sleep they disguise
And come to me, to cease the cries.
“Hush, my baby, my love, my dear”
“Hush”, she says, “hush”.
From his cradle, his two arms rise
Asking for the warmth she never denies.
“Hush”, she says, “hush”.

So I imagine, perhaps it happened,
I, the baby; she, my mother.