Angel's Music
Persistently I walked
Along a dusty road,
And did not pause.
Thirst was the goad.
A man had offered
A glass of lemonade,
A lift by car.
I refused this aid.
I had to go alone.
Was this a penance?
Or was it a fad?
Or was it a dance?
No people thereabouts:
No houses either;
No sheep, no dogs:
Just hot weather.
A lonely gravel track
And the sweltering sun.
Three miles to walk.
What had I done?
In a strange country,
As quiet as a mouse,
Walking back to my room
In an empty house
Then came a song
Too beautiful for any voice
From a man or woman.
It was the angels-rejoice.
It was a hymn to Mary,
But never sung in church.
It was a free gift,
Never found by search.
I doubted the angels.
Was there a gramophone?
But this could not be -
For I was quite alone.
The nearest house
Was far away
Beyond a field.
What could I say?
The music was loud,
But not instrumental.
It was right next to me.
So loud, but so gentle.
So I was not alone:
An angel walked with me.
When I got home,
A friend waited with tea.
I sat in her room.
The angel sang again,
Quite softly this time,
And gently like rain.
Did you hear that?
To her I whispered.
No it was not a record?
It was the angels we've heard.
I had doubted the angels:
Then the song was renewed.
"I can hear the angels," I said.
For both of us this was good.