When the angels do their laundry,
Up in heaven on Spring days,
They blow bubbles at each other,
And in the soapsuds play.
They must do a lot of wash,
Because their soapsuds seem to grow,
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 turn gray,
Then, dark and black and ominous,
And they do not go away.
The once blue sky's now darkened,
And a chill comes in the air,
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 hubbub.,
Next, they empty out their laundry tubs,
You should see the water flow,
It comes down by the bucketful,
And drenches everything below.
Suddenly the tempest stops,
And the water runs in gentle streams,
Have the angels left a faucet on,
Or are they rinsing out their things?
More slowly does the water flow,
Until it finally stops,
Then, in all its heavenly glory
A brilliant sun comes out.
Next, I hear some chirping birds,
And a blue, blue sky appears,
The air so clean, it seems pristine,
And more clear, the atmosphere.
Soon, piece by piece, the angels hang,
Their laundry out to dry,
Their angel wings and robes and things,
Are flung across the sky.
Their fresh-washed laundry, pure white,
Is a dazzling sight to see,
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,
No doubt, colored items from the wash,
Set aside, but not removed.
When it's laundry time in heaven,
And the angels roll up their wings,
We know it won't be long at all,
Until the world is sparkling clean.
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
Copyright 2002 
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Thank you Penny Parker for your angel graphics.