Strange angels

There was a holy place made by the screens
Where lay the old man,  trembling into dream.
His face was pale,his nose felt like white ice
An offering on the block for sacrifice.

The sacred place was marked by song and prayer
Made  quietly . so  that no-one else would hear.
He held my hand and whispered ,please don’t go.
I held him in my heart, as his went slow.

A cocoon made in noisy A and E
A strange place for the Lady God to be.
Deep silence underneath the usual noise,
Pierced only by  my child-like singing voice.

I saw his soul ,  my tears made long curtains
Hidden so, I felt the weight of  pain
I felt my heart  crack in this loss and grief
For Death had been there like a silent thief.

His  pale face  on the pillow  seemed to smile
The kindness of strange angels did beguile

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About Kate Thwaite

I love writing , conversation, art, wild flowers, music and air.And books
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