Saturday, January 20, 2007

When angels sing

There are no sounds
As pure as rain
Or soothing as wind
Except when angels sing
As powder plumes
Their falling cavalcades
Of crystal brooms
Sweep needles green
As morning reveals
Other bone white limbs
Of those gone before
And starry tiaras above
Are glittering tears
Cried for those we loved
And autumn's amber seas
Of scarlet crimson scenes
Are flowers of the rainbow
Reflecting the love of God
In pastel effusions
Of rose emerald blue

-- Wesley A. Storer

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