​The morning news is written in a language of ice, Of lives traded cheaply and the heavy, sudden price. And I look at you, my son, my heartbeat walking free, And wonder how the world could be as kind as it should be. ​I see the shadows in the street, the coldness in the palm, The way the world can fracture even when the day is calm. My greatest fear is not the storm, the thunder, or the rain, But the hands of others, careless, who might cause you pain. ​So I fold my hands in silence when the house is dark and still,And I try to bend the heavens to the iron of my will. I pray a circle round you that no shadow can get through, To keep the bitterness of men from ever touching you. ​I ask the stars to watch you when my eyes are turned away, To keep you in the light and hold the cruelty at bay. Until the world grows warmer, until the frost is gone, I’ll wrap my prayers around you like the breaking of the dawn.