Third Day of Christmas-Angels

Some years this angel makes it to the top the tree. Some years, like this one, our tree is too tall. It's displayed here with a Christmas star on the cake plate my daughter gave me for my birthday.

The angel led me to this poem by Csezlaw Milosz. I took the time to write it out casually, something I hope to make a weekly resolution for the new year—setting aside a short bit of time each week to write out a poem. It's a way of slowly down and gaining an enhanced appreciation of the words. My days of careful calligraphy are behind me but I still enjoy putting pen to paper.

Here is the poem again, in an easier to read form, in case you too want to write it out.

On Angels
by Czeslaw Milosz

All was taken away from you: white dresses,
wings, even existence.
Yet I believe in you,
messengers.

There, where the world is turned inside out,
a heavy fabric embroidered with stars and beasts,
you stroll, inspecting the trustworthy seams.

Short is your stay here:
now and then at a matinal hour, if the sky is clear,
in a melody repeated by a bird,
or in the smell of apples at close of day
when the light makes the orchards magic.

They say somebody has invented you
but to me this does not sound convincing
for the humans invented themselves as well.

The voice — no doubt it is a valid proof,
as it can belong only to radiant creatures,
weightless and winged (after all, why not?),
girdled with the lightening.

I have heard that voice many a time when asleep
and, what is strange, I understood more or less
an order or an appeal in an unearthly tongue:

day draw near
another one
do what you can.

I found the poem on the Poetry Chaikhana Blog: Sacred Poetry from Around the World.