Vera Inber
To the son i never had

А Lullaby

Night steps soft on paws of velvet,
Breathes a bear-like sigh.
Moms were made to sing and comfort,
Little boys-to cry.

From my boy as he lies snugly,
Fretful dreams I’ll drive.
Sleep, my sonny, sleep, my lovely
Dimpled fingers five.

High above — a gale of spangles,
Streams of moonlight spar.
High amid the bluish sparkles
Hangs a five-point star.

When my toddler’s grown and robust,
“Mom, I’m off,” he’ll say.
Round his neck a tie of scarlet
I will knot that day.

Then the years will pass as swiftly
As a drum’s brisk call,
While the snows of winter thickly
By the wayside fall.

Soon, a grey-eyed YCLer,
He will take his road,
And his brave new future shoulder
Like an easy load.

Meantime, still a helpless nestling,
Mother’s grey-eyed joy,
Sleep, my bunny, sleep, my darling.
Sleep, my little boy.

Sticking stamps on letters’ faces
In exotic climes,
He’ll send mail from distant places,
Fancy gifts sometimes.

Briefly ships will rest in harbour,
Then they’ll anchors weigh.
Boys were made to man a steamer,
Moms — to love and wait.

Years on years will march by swiftly,
Turn my hair to snow
Till my heart complains: “I’m weary,
It is time to go.”

It will then be stilled forever,
And the news will ride,
Over hill and dale and river
To my sailor’s side.

He will look so pale and harrowed
Grief his brow will crease.
Son will cry in bitter sorrow,
Mom will sleep in peace.

Meantime, things are as they should be,
Everything’s all right —
Mom is singing to her baby,
Baby’s sleeping tight.

And the first of flannel knickers
He’s to wear in life,
Hold my dimpled little fingers,
Sonny’s fingers five.

Translated by Lidia Kmetyuk