The child slept sweetly every night,
With her curtains opened wide,
The light of the moon, 
Lit up her whole room,
As the moonbeams came inside.
Across from her, a painting hung,
Of a lady with spun-gold hair,
Which, if caught just right,
In the soft moonlight,
Presented an angel-like air.
When, in the night, the child awoke,
She'd peek out from 'neath her cover,
And become beguiled,
By the lady who smiled
Down from the painting above her.
She would watch as the moonbeams shifted,
When they seemed to glide around the room
Yet, as if on track,
They always came back,
To the painting from which they had moved.
They'd focus on the lady's face,
Which was so very angel-like,
That ... Lo and Behold,
A halo of gold,
Began to take shape in the light.
Then ... another phenomenon,
Which the moonlight so well displayed,
Two golden wings,
Appeared to spring,
Between the lady's shoulder blades.
The child lay still within her bed,
In awe of all she had seen,
What more did she need,
To help her believe,
The angel was real ... not a dream.
The child then slept through the rest of the night,
Until her room was awash with the dawn,
And when she awoke,
Just as the day broke,
Her lady was back ... her angel was gone.

Virginia (Ginny) Ellis
Copyright January 2008
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