Sleep,little pigeon, and overlap your wings,
Minimal blue pigeon with velvet eyes;
Rest to the singing of mother-flying creature swinging,
Swinging the home where her little ones falsehoods.
Away out there I see a star,
Slivery star with a twinkling tune;
To the delicate dew falling I hear it calling,
Calling and tinkling the night along.
In through the window a moonbeam comes,
Minimal gold moonbeam with cloudy wings;
All quietly crawling, it asks:"Is he dozing,
Dozing and imagining while mother sings?"
Up from the ocean there drift the cry
Of the waves that are breaking upon the shore,
Just as they were moaning in anguish, and groaning;
Moaning about the ship that will come no more.
Be that as it may, rest, little pigeon, and overlay your wings,
Minimal blue pigeon with distressed eyes;
Am I not singing? It couldn't be any more obvious, I am swinging;
Swinging the home where my sweetheart untruths.