Swinging high, swooping low,
Wondering where my hands should go,
Clasped beside me, holding tight,
Or fist before, like Superman in flight?
With wings outstretched beside me flapping,
Speeding me through with lightest tapping,
What does one do with hands and arms?
Whilst flying high they lose their charms.
Ah, but what a joy! The freedom….
Whoa… wait a moment…. back up… Wings?
Wow! Yes! Beautiful, golden-feathered wings!
One either side of me, sprouting from my back!
They flap to my command, I rise,
They fold at my request, I dive,
Then straightening them, we climb the air,
Warm currents can take us anywhere.
So, it’s finally decided, I’ve said it all along,
I really am an angel, good and pure and strong,
Kind hearted, here to serve, offering help to those in need,
Shining light in darkest places, giving voice to those who’ll heed.
And now the calling from above, the persistent voice I hear,
Wherever I decide to go, I really know no fear,
Yet the tugging I now feel, and that voice, start to disturb
This perfect scene I’m in, which cannot be of Earth.
Feathers moulting, abandoning me, golden wings no more,
Brown and tatty extensions, like bones on a broken shore,
“Wake up, wake up!” I hear the call, this can’t have been a dream,
“Get up, get up, get up! They’ve brought the cake and cream.”
The final line decided it and opening eyes I see
A fine blue sky, a few blurred clouds, flying high, way up above me,
An afternoon nap in the garden hammock, hung between the trees,
Brought out the very best of me, the Angel in the Breeze.
© Copyright 2015 Robin McShane