THE ANGELS' WASH DAY
When the angels do their laundry,
Up in heaven on Spring
They blow bubbles at each other,
And in the soapsuds play.
They must do a lot of wash,
Because their soapsuds seem to
Until piled so high up in the sky,
The sun won't even show.
I wonder what is in their wash,
For their soapsuds soon
Then, dark and black and ominous,
And they do not go
The once blue sky's now darkened,
And a chill comes in the
Then, a stillness settles in,
Nothing stirring, anywhere.
The angels sometimes are disturbed,
And they rub-a-dub-dub on their tubs,
Their loud and pounding sounds come down,
Creating quite a
Next, they empty out their laundry tubs,
You should see the
It comes down by the bucketful,
And drenches everything
Suddenly the tempest stops,
And the water runs in gentle
Have the angels left a faucet on,
Or are they rinsing out their
More slowly does the water flow,
Until it finally
Then, in all its heavenly glory
A brilliant sun comes out.
Next, I hear some chirping birds,
And a blue, blue sky
The air so clean, it seems pristine,
And more clear, the
Soon, piece by piece, the angels hang,
Their laundry out to
Their angel wings and robes and things,
Are flung across the
Their fresh-washed laundry, pure white,
Is a dazzling sight
A joy to watch it in the sky,
Drying freely in the breeze.
And in one corner of the sky,
Is an arc of many hues,
doubt, colored items from the wash,
Set aside, but not removed.
When it's laundry time in heaven,
And the angels roll up
We know it won't be long at all,
Until the world is sparkling
I love it when the angels wash,
I love their things hung out to dry,
I love the fresh-washed scent I get,
From their laundry in the sky.
Virginia (Ginny) Ellis