The wings of the angels hover not so far away,
Like butterflies, melting into flower,
Faces of the sweet departed ones,
Colouring wintry fields.
We do not see the angels, Lord, but sometimes
Feel their wings against our faces, in the dark,
A careful touch like a caress and the far away scent of paradise,
The parting gift of rose gold feather.
We wonder about the work of angels
Who go about Your business, Lord,
With word and message to the unlikely and
Prayers for the needy, prayers for deeds.
They keep our ways clear and in time
Bring us wings with which to fly.