Still Entertaining Angels

Thirty years ago, my infant son inspired me to compose a poem about the angels he played with while lying on his back. He was around four or five months old, with siblings aged two, eight, ten, and twelve. Although there was an abundance of activity in the household, Michael succeeded in making celestial friends easily, perhaps because in Hebrew, his name means Who is like God.

Like the warrior archangel we named him after, he fought to develop his motor skills and spent endless time practicing how to roll over. I especially enjoyed watching him flail his arms, kick his legs, and babble with amusement. Today, he holds keys to a gymnasium and teaches physical skills to a chatter of school children.

Here is the poem (followed by a re-write):

Entertaining Angels

There are angels in my house, you know

If my babe could speak, he’d tell you so

He smiles at them and coos their names

They invite him to play cherub games

There’s “Toss the Halo” and “Sing with Glee”

“Tickle My Wing” and “Try to Catch Me”

My babe, he enjoys the exercise

I hear the laughter in his eyes

I watch his arms reach for a kiss

Though he cannot grasp, he’ll never miss

For the angels only my babe sees

Have given to him heaven’s keys

 Still Entertaining Angels

Somewhere near the Rocky Mountains

A whistle signals to drinking fountains

Younglings gather, forming an uneven line

He pulls their attention from cloud nine

With a subtle grin, he calls out each name

Then explains the rules and starts the game

Coaching “Try it like this” and “Now you got it”

“Keep on trying” and “Don’t ever quit!”

What my eyes cannot view I see in my dreams

I watch as my warrior spreads mystical beams

O, blessed are the angels my grown child sees

For he’s taught them much more than me on my knees