A
septet of Angels,
Winged
high,
Above
clouded covers
Spindles
drawing forth—
As
each inch of fiber’s thread
Tightens
distaff toward,
Appears
the spectrum,
A
vision absorbed,
As
are the virtues—
Handed
down,
Whole
and true,
Pure
in frame,
Like
each the notes
Diatonically
arranged
Those angels sounds all nice and neat, with such whiteness all over their feet or should that be all high and mighty and sweet. Either way sure they are a treat. Wait until you see the new cover for book number three at my sea. I think your angel will be scared of mine..haha
ReplyDeletearranged like music...nice close on this...the passing down made me think on all the things we give our kids intentionally or not and perhaps how we see that or hear that song played out...
ReplyDeleteVery nice!
ReplyDeleteI love those last two lines!
ReplyDelete