Angels of the Paper Bark Maple Tree

Beneath the bark of maple's tree,

The guides await the call,

Of all who stand with silence,

On the winding hands of time,

The future's edge is coming,

For the paper on the mend,

Yet timeless ticking fingers,

Wait beyond the final chime,

Maple is the sweetness,

That awaits the final day,

Yet paper is the outside,

Seeing no clear end in sight,

The morrow has awakened,

Yet the dusk remains by day,

A pillar on the outside,

And the fire of the night,

Angels of remembrance,

See the clock that lies upstairs,

The attic churns with wonder,

Yet the basement ceases not,

It calls to thee persistently,

Through many frequent tales,

To nullify the attic,

And lie dead in rust and rot,

Stand up and remember,

Like the inner angel's crown,

That paper on the outside,

Are like feathers on a wing,

The inner will reveal itself,

With stillness truly still,

And then the heart can truly,

Know with joy it now can sing.

-Pamela Storch