homeward bound

sundays // sweet voice

i am not one with so great of voice
        it is ragged and worn from yelling over
                wind anyways
      i mean, i come up with
           less exciting things incessantly
       not harmonious with lark nor thrush

one an angel who sings nonstop 
        except while she sleeps,
   i long to hear her voice again
     she is pure beauty
          left
             with
     complete
        wings
   and 
         the
       wisdom
                of a
          choir
                of 
            High

she is a rose in which does not bear thorns
she is more white a lamb who rears no horns*
kind in every song she sings daily and nightly
        her anger just and graceful,
          her happiness sweeter than that of
             cotton candy, luminous and spry of an angel's choir

how edible, if sound could sate my rusted tongue

*a reference to my favorite William Blake poem