Angels sitting on soft clouds,

strumming harps of gold.

Hair of flaxen opulence,

glistening amongst the fold.

Shimmering gowns of purest white,

hint of Majesty untold.

Aloft their heads can slight be seen,

a nimbus pure and bold.

Singing hymns to Him above,

with voices young and old.

They are angels from on high,

sent to shroud us from the cold.

By: Beverly Beekmans (2001)

I just really enjoy this poem and I hope you do too. I often wonder what angels are really like, are they beautiful? what do they like to do? I suppose we will someday know the answer to all our questions.

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