I'Ll Be No Youthful Angel

Angels sit on pins
and flap white wings
without an eyeblink
of passing time.

Angels walk barefoot
through satin mud
and emerge with clean
lily-odored feet.

Angels wear silk robes
with gold and amber crewel
with no sweat guards
or basement laundry.

I'm old, gilded with sweat,
perfumed in garlic and grease,
sprawled on a clump of sheets,
more alive than any angel.

by Martha J. Eshelman

Other poems of ESHELMAN (12)

Comments (1)

Nice interpretation of what angels do Martha! Oh if it were true! ! ! lol 10 from flutter by Tai