I believe you're right about the end of the day when our cares go away, and we go to sleep and dream.

So that's where I get all those beautiful dream stories? Some of them highly sexual, but pleasing, not abusive at all.

I only remember two prayers. The one they call the lord's prayer, and the one that my mother taught me at a very young age.

That prayer was not calm at all, but rather grim. The kind that fearful mothers in the past taught their children to protect them from evil that we hardly have anymore today, except our kids getting on the Internet and committing suicide or not getting their childhood vaccinations.

Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the lord my soul to keep.
If I should die before I wake,
I pray the lord my soul to take.

Young children back then often died of disease, starvation or the cold. More often than now from violence.

Ron

Your poem moves with a calm, steady assurance, capturing that unseen protection that surrounds us when we’re most vulnerable. The image of angels keeping watch through the night feels both intimate and expansive, and the closing lines offer a gentle benediction of trust. A beautifully restful piece.