Midnight Comfort

My weeping child
I gather in my arms,
press his warm damp cheek with mine,
whisper to him of angels
that spread their breathless wings
over the shadows cast
by the green nightlight.
In the other bed, his twin
stirs, turns his sweet,
closed-lidded face up.
I soothe, shush,
stroke the beloved tousled head,
tuck the small curled body in,
and leave behind
my prayers to the God who watches
even while I sleep.