My Angel Poem by David McLansky

That modest matron heaven sent
When fickle Fortune did relent
Who dipped her head, bending low
And raised me up, pulling slow;
Seemed to me an apparition,
I felt her hands squeeze with contrition
She made the sun seem in the room
I who sat in dark and gloom;
Your voice was clear and reassuring,
So demur and yet alluring,
Such refined intelligence,
I knew that life could recommence;
And although I knew it was your job,
I guessed that you were sent by God.