Lay, sweet child
Upon your bed, adorned with thorn roses
Do not stir from your mist of peace.
Allow the sweet bliss to dance 'round your head.
Dream of warm sun and swaying flowers,
Of birds singing and children laughing.
Ignore the sharp pricks on your smooth, soft skin,
Attached to your bed of red roses,
Drinking your sweet, red nectar flowing freely.
Lay, sweet child.
We shall watch,
As you float into the arms of After.