Fat Angels Sing Soprano

Poem By Lewis Eron

Fat angels sing soprano
And wear blond wigs.
In heaven's four part harmony
They sing the high notes,
(Cherubim sing bass)
All aspects of God
As real as the four corners of the earth

I am currently on the top of the world
But, that is of no consequence
Since circular motion is perfect
And the world is a circle squared

Only in heaven do the angels sing loudly
Here they complain about the weather
The thin ones are always too cold
The cubby ones in their golden locks
Too hot.

On Shabbos, the angels go bowling.
They used to visit but it was too much effort,
A busman's holiday so to speak.
Knocking down and setting up ten pins
Is really quite mystical
And heaving heavy balls
And rolling stars around
And watching them bump into each other
Is pretty much like bowling.

The world goes round and round,
And we keep falling off
Gravity doesn't work well with souls.

Angels, when not too busy,
Try to catch us
So that we can turn the pages
Set up the chairs
And, maybe, win our wings,
And stop drifting in circles.

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