The Angel In My Hand

I sat in wait with outstretched hand,

Its empty plain to fill.

Came an angel, then two more

And danced as angels will.

I gently lowered them to the earth

And set them to their task.

Then raised my hand once again,

One more time to ask.

Upon my open palm I found

An angel in repose,

With feathered wings so small and white

I chose to hold her close.

She was too fragile and so weak.

Her frailty found me weeping.

I dared not lower her to earth.

I held her in safekeeping.

“Why don’t you dance?” I dared to ask.

“Or use your wings to fly?”

She shook her head at the question

And looked me in the eye.

“I’ve no use for wings and flying,

No need to dance and turn.

My task is so unlike the others’.

I am not here to learn.”

“I am here to do the teaching,

To show the world the light.

This tired world, for all its reaching,

Has sadly lost its sight.”

“So hold me high and let me show

What I’m here to be.

And if you’re patient, kind and loving,

You will learn from me.”

© 2010 Fiauna Lund