Angels

A cluttered canvas is purified with white as bits of the heavens dance in front of my eyes
And rest upon my head and jacket.
The cold, with the sincerest of tough love, whips and kisses my face,
To remind me of all that I have to be grateful for.
This brutality is true beauty-- that which reveals to you just how blessed you are.
My worn boots tread carefully on the frozen walkway
Towards home.

Providence gladly shown upon her
And as naturally as the plant drinks the rain,
She accepted her place-- the call delegated to her
Knowing fully the obstacles ahead.
This did not shake her
As she knew to accept what was meant to be
Apart from what she may have otherwise feared.

Pain comes, Fear attacks, Age cripples
We lose the ones we love

But these are as a tree shedding its leaves
Winter sets, but the tree doesn't die
It lives despite these ravages to share its joy in Spring, crowned in green
When the world basks in glory and life.