Fallen Angel

I was taking down the Christmas tree,

reaching round in back

I bumped the tree (and rocked my world).

That’s when I heard a crash.


The angel lay upon the tile

knocked down from way up high;

ceramic face, ceramic floor.

I thought I heard her cry.


All golden robes and golden wings,

faceless, up she gazed.

I looked at her ... and held my breath,

looked in, and was amazed.


No moan, no gasp, no expletive

escaped my lips that day.

I saw a message on that floor

to guide me on my way.


She had no mouth to shout at me,

but I heard, Stop and hear!

Her shattered eyes beamed light and love,

I felt it, loud and clear.


She told me what I need to know:

Beware the little me!

Look with more than human sight

if I would truly see.


Be sure I hear with Spirit’s ears

the music for my dance.

Face and form are fragile things,

prone to happenstance.


I breathed a-ha ... quietly.

I did not make a fuss.

But no one now can tell me that

God does not speak to us.


I lovingly repaired her head,

the old replaced with new,

and each day try to do the same

in all I think and do.


I thank my fallen angel-guide.

I thank my yuletide tree.

and daily live the lesson taught

that Christmastime to me.

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