I pushed aside my heavy sheets to find
an Angel sitting cross-legged on my bed.
His countenance imbued by perfect love,
a halo of soft light about his head.
He flexed two tiny talcum wings and sighed.
I said, "Am I in heaven, have I died?"
He answered with a question of his own,
and asked me my opinions of God,
I told him I believed in no such things,
the Angel thought my answer rather odd.
"Before you now the evidence you need,
and yet you still insist you don't believe?"
I said that sometimes dreams seem very real,
but then I watched with disbelieving eyes,
his fragile infant hand entwined with mine,
upon his lips a knowing cherub smile.
"Now do you believe in Angels?" he enquired.
"I don't," I said. "Now go away, I'm tired."
by Stephen Hirons
Read the story behind this poem
Vote For My Site!