The Angel

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  • Death

    The Angel

    Sitting in the watting room...
    Waiting for the news...
    I sit there and think,
    Will she live or will she die?
    Then the doctor comes,
    and gives us the news...
    We sit there in the waiting room,
    in the morning full of grief...
    We go and say our goodbye,
    before she was put into those...
    dark and cold compartments,
    in the morgue.
    Just as they shut it a bright light appears,
    we hear a voice say...
    I am your angel standing by.

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    Svana commented on The Angel

    03-07-2009

    So sad...I can't find the words,just some tears...Great poem!

    muttman1 commented on The Angel

    01-20-2009

    i've been there before. very touching.

    Poetry is finer and more philosophical than history; for poetry expresses the universal, and history only the particular.

    Aristotle (384 BC-322 BC) Greek philosopher.

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