On wings of angels

Old and shaking from the cold
he shuffles along the winding road
to the rickety wooden shack
where the hunting dogs play.

Money for fun he has none,
only a dollar a day
is his work for the day,
to clean the diner down by the bay.

As he sits in his room
he looks for the broom,
to sweep away the dusty memories of yesterday,
where he and his lovely wife –Gail
would laugh and play with the sleigh in the snow.

Now I remember-
The sleigh slithered away down the slope
where I broke my leg and
Gail fell and twisted her back,
never to walk again.

As I sit and dream
of the wonderful times we had,
my memory soon fades
to the day when she passed away
in the month of May so long ago.

Come Sundays I do the best that I can
with the clothes that I have,
to dress up nicely and go to the grave
where I sit and stare at memories
while I pray.

Hidden in a cloud-"On the wings of angels”
I hear her voice say-
"Honey I’m home
Come let’s play in the snow
like so many years ago"