Listening to every heart
She stood there quite alone, on her raised platform high
one could see the quiet in her face, hear the lonesome sigh;
'tho she uttered nary a sound, you sensed some slight remorse,
for from her high raised platform, she wished another course.
Her beauty was so stunning, her image one of dreams,
the aura that surrounded her, surreal, not what it seems.
Quite out of place she was, in her cloth of golden weave,
it really made me wonder, why she didn't up and leave.
For even though all alone, her face formed a twinkling smile,
as if thinking of greater things, even more worthwhile.
Though the aisles clamored with every shopper's sound,
she stood quiet, all alone, not even looking around.
My gaze was all wrapped up in her, she didn't leave my sight
but I ended my day by leaving her, there, alone in the night.
Then in my dreams she flew in, and whispered in my ear,
so in the morning I then knew, she belonged right here.
Back I went to the shop, there was an empty spot to see
the little angel in golden weave was not there for me.
The beauteous gift on angel's wing seemed to have left me bare,
I silently wondered where she had gone, if she was safe in care.
For I have a penchant for angels fine, they are from heaven sent,
I seek the ones who thus seek me, and now I would repent.
For I did not whisk this little one up, and rid her of remorse,
as in my home she did belong, and in my heart dwelled, of course.
She would not leave my mind, her beauty grew by day,
but in night's dream I would hear "I'll be on my way…"
In morn's light I did not know just what to think of this,
I only knew that little angel would be sorely missed.
I took some time to wander round in my own little domicile,
lovingly touched all my angels, they always make me smile,
and yet my mind did wander to the one in weave of gold,
and marvelous she would have been, had she not been sold.
Then a strange thought occurred to me, angels are not to be owned,
for gifts they are, the Lord's gift indeed, and why their light is shown,
so I took comfort in the thought, "she's where she ought to be,"
"for she must be someone's gift, and in someone's heart is she."
As dawning came on Christmas day, it was so lovely and bright
Ol' Saint Nick, we knew, had duly come in dark of night.
But to my surprise, upon my tree, in golden light did shine,
a gift, the angel in golden weave, graced the tree, and mine.
She gazed down, so lovingly, the remorse had duly taken leave,
now she stood, quite in her place, in all her golden weave.
Heaven sent as someone's gift, her radiance was all around,
for then I really knew that day, she was ever sent heartbound.
28 November 1999
Look, then, into thine heart, and write ~~~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow