Hush, can you hear the angels’ wings

in the breath of the air

mid the rain?

Quiet now, listen,

between drops as they fall,

a faint beat at my window pane.

A rustle, some drips,

a glimpse of wing white,

a stilled breeze through the shutters ajar,

they’ve paused for a moment,

my heart to explore

before journeying onwards afar.

Shush, I can hear them,

they’ve  halted too long,

this never has happened before.

Communion’s occurring,

I feel in their minds, weighing me up

but yet more.

Searching my soul,  

from the sills where they stand,

outside in the palest moonlight,

reading me well,

compassion descending,

a gift in the small hours of lost night.

Flutters I heard

as the peace came upon,

a stirring of feathers and gone,

their misson to mingle,

leave a token of white,

to all lonely, before moving on.


11 thoughts on “Envoys”

      1. Lets not get crazy now, I can imagine you saying the words, and maybe the inflection, but just Like John Oliver said, we Americans think Scottish is that accent we can all do, but actually can’t.


      2. Don’t worry, it can’t be any worse than my husband. He worked, closely, for two years with a guy from London and thought he was Scottish. Really? I mean, he’s never been outside the US, but he has at least seen Austin Powers…


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