Sing! and rise up!
There is
a song you can sing,
a
wild racing chorus to a thing you know
nothing of
Simple,
elegant, but with an
ancient rhythm
And
the face, oh, the face
appears to me, in a
timeless,
endless vision
of
immortal beauty and
rigid firmness;
it has the
countenance of the
Holy
The Blessed
I sing with words
I do not know
And a
beat of which I only
dream
My soul bleeds for this moment,
the music enchanting me
and the heart for which I
spill my life.
I tear
the frailty of life from me,
and I see in my arms the face of
an angel.
And as she drifts to other places,
her
crib seems so
warm, that
I sleep in the
chair beside it.
Devon Hart
A Song To An Angel