When last I saw your daughter weeping
you were gliding along on an icy stream.
And now that time remains, I am sleeping
and entering a world in which a dream
can be passed over, changed into something
far more tangible. I await its departure,
and in the meantime set aside the ring
which when melted reveals your Woton nature.
There is a place where woodpeckers keep
their young protected from the sun. I hear
them in the trunk of the dead tree. Sleep,
child. You have nothing to fear.

And all along the waterside
abandoned children seek a place to hide.