If You'll Only Go To Sleep

The crimson rose
plucked yesterday
the fire and cinnamon
of the carnation,

the bread I baked
with anise seed and honey,
and the goldfish
flaming in its bowl.

All these are yours,
baby born of woman,
if you'll only
go to sleep.

A rose, I say!
And a carnation!
Fruit, I say!
And honey!

And a sequined goldfish,
and still more I'll give you
if you'll only sleep
till morning.

from Tenderness 1924 translated by Doris Dana

I struggle to find poems about mothering that speak to me. I just discovered Gabriela Mistral, and I adore her. Her poems are both grounded in the concrete and have a sense of the holy.

I'm embarrassed to be coming so late to this Nobel Prize winning Chilean poet who, according to the book I'm reading, is recited by every school child across Latin America. Is this true dear readers? If you were a child in Latin America, did you grow up on Mistral like I grew up on Mother Goose and Shel Silverstein? And, I need advice on a translator. If anyone has a favorite English version of Mistral, especially her book about mothering, Tenderness, I'm eager to read it.