I believe we each have a guardian angel.

Last night I lay down
in a cradle of wisdom
rocked by ageless hands.
Though the language was foreign,
I heard every word;
sounds sprang in my head:
“You’re but a small pebble
in our rock of ages.
We all will guide you
if you trust and believe us.
The shadows of night
on vast darkened wings
flies every which way . . .
fleeing from wisdom
of eternity.
Ageless guardian angels
hover over you.”
I slid into slumber,
eased my being to their hands;
‘twas rocked by the ages.
Rocked by ageless hands.