Monday, 1 March 2010

Angel Song.

Angel Song

I hear the harmony
of their wings
resonating in the air
like the breeze on my face
I can feel they are there
They are rising in harmonics
turning like a flock of birds
in the choir of their wings
I can hear these words

'The poor man's wealth
is in his heart
collected treasures set aside
a lifetime of feeling and thought
of joys to share and grief to hide

The poor man's wealth
is in his soul
fashioned by a life of care
when there is nowhere to turn
calling out to God from his despair

The poor man's wealth
is in his hope
for heaven's pasture
and a camp to pitch
in the gift of God
who spares the poor
the poverty of dying rich

The poor man's wealth
is in his faith
upon this staff his burdens lean
and walking taps along the way
finding evidence of things not seen

The poor man's wealth
is in his need
though wealth and power
their virtues flaunt
the place where the God is found
is in the sigh of abject want'

Then gradually I became aware
of breathing again
there was less pressure in the air
and the sky just looked like rain
I called out and I listened
but I knew they were gone
so I sat beneath an oak tree
and wrote down their song.

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