Faintly see, I calmly claim the fact that something's here.
I hold the sight to me and fear that you'll see nothing there.
But angels dive and flying by I'm witness this tonight.
I'm sure that they surround me now escaping from the light.
Why they're here's a mystery made stranger by the sound.
A whistle wisk up higher and a rumble long the ground.
No matter what I see or claim the fact that something's there,
is bold and will relieve if you believe they're standing here.
Thomas Adams's Other Poems
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
The Poetaster Oct/2013
Comments about this poem (A Mystery by Thomas Adams )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
William Carlos Williams
(17 September 1883 – 4 March 1963)
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