So shut your eyes while Mother sings
Of wonderful sights that be,
And you shall see the beautiful things
As you rock in the misty sea.
—Eugene Field, “Winken, Blynken and Nod”
There was a time when sleep
was not just rest but a voyage,
a tender surrender
to voices that carried me
across waves of moonlight,
through skies embroidered with stars.
Mother’s song was the ship—
steady, soft, unyielding—
guiding me beyond the edges
of my small, loud world
to where dreams drifted free
and magic was not a story
but the air I breathed.
In those moments, I was weightless—
a sailor cradled by mist,
safe from storms of waking thought,
floating in a sea of gentle sound.
And now, when the night spills silence,
I close my eyes and listen,
hoping to find again
that place where wonder waits—
where the beautiful things still shine
beneath the hush of a lullaby.