Angels
In dells and great glens groups of happy orphan children run and pick bunches of flowers,
They smell them, weave them into posies and garlands, they are blessed by angels in heaven,
And all these children are where they are, because a catastrophe has ruined their sad little lives,
Each kneel by their beds at night and they pray to God for someone to love and take them home,
To have real families and to know love not sorrow, to sleep in peace and not fear tomorrow.
Trees are bright green and the grass is long and warm the children run fast over the glens,
They whip their legs or graze their knees but say nothing, they may be told to sit in the bus,
Little girls making daisy chains under a June sun with their red rosy cheeks and red gingham frocks,
The boys fly past pretending to be airplanes, all have grey shirts, grey trousers and grey socks,
All are happy, but their happiness is never complete, as later it's back to the children's home.
It's picnic time they sit in deep green grass each is given a neat folded brown paper parcel,
There's apples and oranges, some bread and cheese and a few penny sweets in a twisted bag,
Nobody speaks, they hold tight to their parcel as they eat lunch and they must eat all the crusts,
Then the lady in charge reads the register and shouts out names each say 'yes miss' then carry on,
But the very best of all is munching on Black Jacks and the fruit salad chews, what a great day,
The angels watch these sad little people and kneel with them at night saying their prayers,
They kneel by each child in the rows of beds and listen to the tiny sobs and see the tears,
Some speak to Jesus asking for a mum and dad, maybe their best friend could come along too,
And as the sobs quieten and tears dry on small faces the angels smile and hold their hands,
Falling into a deep sleep they dream the dream of dreams a new mum kissing away their pain.
Copyright © Terry Trainor | Year Posted 2017
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