Sitting in Michael's Lap
You spin your verse of angel's grace, of Joy in human guise –
And I, the most unworthy sight that greets your loving eyes
Can only wonder what they see – what angle unexplored
By me reveals a vision that could be by you adored?
I claim no ken to seraphim, and yet your poet's lyre
Entreats me sing, as though my voice could shame the Heaven's choir;
I fear the heights that you ascribe, lest I from grace should fall –
But my reluctance to ascend dissuades you not at all;
But only lends you sweeter voice, and doubly draped in love,
A hymn that I can only pray to be deserving of ...
But if an Angel you desire, despite what doubting brings,
Then Angel I shall surely be, or die in search of wings.
Full fathom five thy father lies,
Of his bones are coral made,
Those are pearls that were his eyes;
Nothing of him that doth fade
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange...
--William Shakespeare, from The Tempest
[This message has been edited by Skyfyre (edited 06-02-2000).]