The Angels of the broken wing
had fallen through our hand
and though, in silence, hope would sing
we couldn’t understand.
In tempest was a hidden gift,
bestowed to ease our strife…
the ill- prevailing wind would shift
and change the course of life.
Our Wednesday children, saving graces,
proved the verses wrong;
with little ones of Angel’s faces;
love to pass along.
The early, broken Angels lay
as precious memory
for we know, now, that love can stay
embraced though far away.
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