The dog barks and the cat mews,
The moon comes out in the sky,
The birds are mostly settled.
I envy your twelve hours
Of uninterrupted dreaming.

I take your small palms in mine
And don't know what
To do with them. Beware, my son,
Of those old clear-headed women

Who never miss a funeral.

Arvind Krishna Mehrotra

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/canticle-for-my-son/