The Crescent Moon: The Unheeded Pageant

The Unheeded Pageant

Ah, who was it coloured that little frock, my child, and covered
your sweet limbs with that little red tunic?

You have come out in the morning to play in the courtyard,
tottering and tumbling as you run.

But who was it coloured that little frock, my child?

What is it makes you laugh, my little life-bud?

Mother smiles at you standing on the threshold.

She claps her hands and her bracelets jingle, and you dance with
your bamboo stick in your hand like a tiny little shepherd.

But what is it makes you laugh, my little life-bud?

O beggar, what do you beg for, clinging to your mother's neck
with both your hands?

O greedy heart, shall I pluck the world like a fruit from the sky
to place it on your little rosy palm?

O beggar, what are you begging for?

The wind carries away in glee the tinkling of your anklet bells.

The sun smiles and watches your toilet. The sky watches over you
when you sleep in your mother's arms, and the morning comes
tiptoe to your bed and kisses your eyes.

The wind carries away in glee the tinkling of your anklet bells.

The fairy mistress of dreams is coming towards you, flying
through the twilight sky.

The world-mother keeps her seat by you in your mother's heart.

He who plays his music to the stars is standing at your window
with his flute.

And the fairy mistress of dreams is coming towards you, flying
through the twilight sky.

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