Envoys

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.

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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.

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      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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