Night sinks into the grove of sleep

Night sinks into the grove of sleep, 
I call you my dreams pass. 
I gave the mother of a child in the cradle 
autumn wind memories only 
longer sway. 
Sematary silk hair, 
beautiful boy, poor. 
Your father is an orphan child, 
your mother too depressed. 

Angel halo over your head 
today, very tight. 
There is a parallel 
with the stone weight 
the great world of pain 
it is constructed. 

The author, a woman than an open gate, 
always hinges outstretched. 
Pocket-queen of spades card 
recalls the great grief. 
Drops tears in the clouds of black, 
they were cry 
the pangs of a mother. 

I own purgatory 
my world created, 
it does not give us peace. 
The flames on the heel, 
the harvest bowl 
pain half. 
I can not escape the anxiety, 
before death-fiance says: 
Now you die.