Angels Heard On High
The old lady of eighty was home alone.
Being widowed and childless she sat
Watching the fire and stroking her cat
Wondering if the storm had stopped
And if the snow had piled so high
That it had buried her windows and doors.
Then she jumped in her chair startled at the sound
Of plastic and metal on concrete moving around.
Then peered out the window to examine the site
And realized the sound of walks being cleared that night
Sounded like angels she had once heard on high.
Being widowed and childless she sat
Watching the fire and stroking her cat
Wondering if the storm had stopped
And if the snow had piled so high
That it had buried her windows and doors.
Then she jumped in her chair startled at the sound
Of plastic and metal on concrete moving around.
Then peered out the window to examine the site
And realized the sound of walks being cleared that night
Sounded like angels she had once heard on high.
–Jeff Thomason, November 6, 2002
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