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ON ANGELS’ WINGS WE FLY

                                   

Up we go on gossamer wings made of crystal ice, higher and higher into the blue.

Summer radiance bathes us in its warm radiance as we roll and dive with the sun shining warmly on our backs.

For this is what it is to be free, so much to enjoy in the sky, up through the clouds to where the angels live, so high that even in the day the sky is almost purple.

I know when I die I want to be an angel and to fly as high as I can on gossamer wings.

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good..lines...
commented by
thanx, an old poem.
commented by
nice one sir

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