|By A Bereaved Mother|
|A flock of angels have touched our lives,
their shadows are cast on the day.
Some whisper softly, some touch gently,
others show others the way.
Oh angel, we cry when we are alone,
tired from our quest to understand
why you only whisper softly, only touch us gently,
and leave only prints in the sand.
But we are not alone in grief, are we?
We must look to the sky when it’s fair.
To hear angels whisper softly, feel angels touch us gently
and find strength in their faith we must share.
Tomorrow will come, as sure as there’s love,
so we wake to the gift of a day.
Knowing angels whisper softly, knowing angels touch us gently
and believing they can show us, to, the way.
|The author of this poem has asked to remain anonymous.|