Why Angels Have Wings
There’s a hill near my village, five hundred feet high.
When I stand on the top I see angels pass by.
It’s peaceful and quiet with a view of the Bay.
If I could stop working, I’d go every day.
My son won’t go with me. He scoffs when I ask.
He’s never desired such a satisfying task.
‘The world owes me a living,’ is all he will say.
‘I’d rather watch telly for the rest of the day.’
I can’t force him to work. He’s too old to direct.
If I threaten eviction, my marriage he’ll wreck.
His mother protects him. ‘He’s special,’ she says.
‘We must keep him apart from man’s evil ways.’
But I think we have spoilt him with material things.
From that hill he could see why angels have wings.
There is beauty and truth and love to be found,
He’ll never discover down here on the ground.
I’m determined to try to alter his ways,
And the plan to achieve that must be one that pays.
The view from that hilltop will open his eyes,
But it may take my lifetime to win him that prize.
If he desires my money after I’ve gone,
He’ll comply with my wishes or he’ll have none.
That’s why I’ve made it a clause of my Will,
He’ll scatter my ashes on the top of that hill.
My son’s not a bad youth. One day he will care,
But the love that he bears me is hard to declare.
So I will be successful. He will value the plan,
As I did before him when it made me a man.
For I was no better, wanting similar things,
Then my father’s Will showed me,
Why Angels have wings.