The cure

I have my eyes closed,

and I see you in tears.

You have wrinkled up your face

in sadness or fear.

I hear the room's silence interspersed

by your repressed whimper.

I move my fingers to your face,

taking them softly from your temples,

caressing your cheek,

till they reach your chin;

undoing at every instant

the wrinkles that blemish your face.

You begin to feel at ease,

resting your head on my shoulder.

I keep stroking your hair,

till you fall into a peaceful slumber.