I never asked her why, and I regret it
for she seemed to give herself entirely
without a thought.
Angels are like that, I suppose;
floating round, as if in secret;
serving no purpose except to
serve others.
Her hands were course and worn;
hard work embedded in her fingertips
But such the work was full of love
you would have sooner touched a cloud
or a delicate flower
She loved flowers.
The beautiful buds in full bloom that day,
and reflected in the window as they passed by.
Her young friend: bright, and fair;
She put her hand to the glass as she gazed, earnestly;
A flowing stream of white satin and lace
shining back in her eyes.
She was to be married.
But then, her white eyes went dark;
she had come back down from the clouds.
All that was mirrored in the window now
were the flowers, as they continued on.
Her pocket book seemed heavier now;
a heartbreaking reminder:
Such beautiful things have a price.
She looked at her dear friend walking beside her
and knew exactly what she must do,
without even a second thought.
No less a sacrifice, but a token of love
she could not let go un-given.
Angels are like that, I suppose.
A beautiful morning, a well-made bed;
a row of flowers showing through
a bridal shop window.
But the window inside was bare.
Tears of joy filled this angel's eyes as she
lay the dress down over the edge of the bed:
a flowing stream of white satin and lace.
The young friend fell to her knees
at the sight of such a treasure.
But when asked of the bearer of this God-sent gift,
She, as I suppose angels do, simply smiled,
shrugged her shoulders, and walked away.
She never told me this story herself;
angels don't like boasting, you see.
And such an angel couldn't stay forever;
Here on the ground, there is such a thing
as too much good an angel can do.
So she is floating now.
