David Lewis Paget
An angel fell to the earth one day
And lay with a broken wing,
I saw her lying out on the path
And thought I was seeing things.
‘Are you really what I think you are? '
I said, but I saw she cried,
So picked her gently up in my arms,
‘I'd better get you inside.'
Her tears were staining her pale white cheeks,
And weeds were caught in her hair,
The wing was twisted and limp, I saw,
And I couldn't help but stare.
‘I think I must look a fright, ' she said,
And dabbed away at her tears,
‘I flew straight into a plane, and still,
The engines ring in my ears.'
I laid her down on the couch inside
Stood back, was taking her in,
‘I thought you couldn't be seen by men,
You've set me to wondering! '
Her dress was white, but was stained with mud
From the place she'd lain, by the gate,
And on the wing was a trace of blood
While feathers fell in the grate.
‘We'd best get that in a splint, ' I said,
And busied myself a while,
Tearing a sheet into long white strips
And setting the kettle to boil.
‘I'd take you down to the hospital
But the shock would be hard to gauge,
They'd probably call in the military,
And lock you up in a cage.'
‘I only came to escort you in, '
She said, ‘and now all this fuss.
You should have been walking the street by now,
And due to be hit by a bus!
They're going to be mad when I get back home,
I've botched the eternal clock,
And you'll live on past the danger zone,
While I'll end up in the dock.'
An icy shiver ran down my spine
Like someone walked on my grave,
‘You say I was going to die today,
But you were late, so I'm saved! '
‘If you can see me you're still not safe
Beware of all things on wheels,
They'll have to revise your life spell now
If a few more years appeals.'
‘I'll take whatever you've got, ' I said,
‘I'm not quite ready to go,
There's too many books I haven't read,
And women to, well, you know! '
They must have made a decision then
For the wind blew through in a gust,
Instead of an angel, sitting, there
Was a cloud of Angel Dust.
26 August 2014
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941)
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