The little angel sat on its rock.
\nAll winter the wind blew on its face.
\nIt did not mind,
\nits hands folded between its knees,
\nits head bowed as if remembering.
\nI looked behind the garage
\nfrom time to time,
\nto its place.
\nIt was always there,
\ncontemplative, quiet.<\/p>\n
Once I trembled from the cold
\nand thought,
\nI\u2019ll take you in,
\nbut I knew the cold
\ndid not hurt the angel.
\nThat its peace belonged to the twilight,
\nthe morning,
\nthe coming and going of children
\nin the school beyond the fence,
\nand I went in.
\nSpring appeared.
\nThe little angel did not move.
\nIt stayed where it was.
\nTulips came up, and daffodils,
\ncups and trumpets.
\nThe little angel still looked down,
\nits hands still,
\nwhite as clouds.<\/p>\n
Then one afternoon another soul
\nlike itself appeared.
\nHe was warm and had dark eyes
\nwith snowflakes in them.
\nHe kept looking here and there,
\nno older than the angel,
\ngazing at the ground,
\nputting his hand on the angel\u2019s head.
\nAnd I sensed in the air
\nsome ethereal sound,
\na ray of joy,
\nthe rising of the moon
\nin the daylight sky.
\nMichael looking through the fence
\nat the cars and children
\nas the angel had done.
\nAnd I knew
\nwhy I never took the angel in.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The little angel sat on its rock. All winter the wind blew on its face. It did not mind, its hands folded between its knees,…<\/p>\n