Angel
When
I was young, I searched for angels.
I
looked everywhere.
At
twenty, I'd given up searching.
How
could I know then, one winter night,
the
gurney ice under my dreams,
that
the hand rough on my forehead
was
an angel's noiseless wings,
the
smile in his sleepless eyes,
his
otherworldly beauty?
"Rest,"
he said, and his gentle courage
was
the silence of my sleep.
And
now I know -
and
perhaps it isn't late at all,
that
if I'd known where to look,
I'd
never have had to look at all.
Dear
Mother, I called to you
and
you were here before I woke up,
the
laughter in your tears telling me
it
was no use trying to grow up.
For
wisdom comes as we learn,
and
learning is but the will to trust.
And
trusting now, I know to look,
and
to see angels all around.
Their
beauty is the quiet serenity
of their love.
No comments:
Post a Comment