Day 4 of a Month with Yeats. Prompt from Jane Dougherty Writes .
“…till the morning break and the white hush end all but the loud beat of their long wings, the flash of their white feet.” W.B. Yeats.
Falling Angels
In the long hours from dusk till dawn
When the life threads grow thin
And unearthly fears take form
The angels flutter and hide from sin.
As the embers of the fire die
And the shadows huddle close
The fallen angels can no longer fly
Regret is the path that they chose.
Fallen from grace and in pain
Like tears their white feathers rain
Their feet pale yet blood speckled
God’s words in their ears heckled.
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