Bonnie Church
oz1@wycol.com

I find that poems often come to me after struggling through the day, just trying to understand  some of the ups and downs.  At times when those inner battles just won't stop, finding a place of solitude often helps me to find the answers.  And often in the peace, the answers come in the most glorious ways.

Crooked Halos, Broken Wings

She sits there wondering what to do
This little child, so torn,
The wing she's holding is broken,
And though it looks quite old and worn,
She needs to somehow mend it,
To make it work as if brand new,
She knows an angel is flying,
With only one wing -- not two.
She pictures the golden halo
Atilt on the little one's head,
With one wing, she's out of balance,
"Please help me fix it" she pled.
With her cries she heard a rustle,
And looked around in fear -
What she saw was a cute little cherub,
With a face that was ever so dear.
This tiny angel was missing a wing,
And was finding it hard to fly,
But it was the crooked little halo,
That caught the child's eye.
Quickly she put her fingers to work,
As she quietly started to sing,
Her stitches weaving masterfully,
New life to this sweet angel's wing.
When finished she carefully placed it,
On a cushion of daisies and mums,
So the cherub could slip it on easily,
Having only to use her thumbs.
And the child just sat in total awe,
As the angel started to soar,
A trail of gossamer following her,
Her halo straight - once more.

 

Bonnie Church
oz1@wycol.com