And I felt their mighty rushing wind.

I viewed them from my sickness bed,

as the multitude, with the night, did blend.

For they cantered into a moonless night,

And left me in turmoil, weeping and sobbing below.

They left me alone,

With tears of sorrow and tears of fright,

and the heartfelt fears of no tomorrow.

They told me how man has lost the serenity grace,

and spoke of disasters and plagues soon to take place.

They urged me in a singing whispers tune,

about the day of sorrows and the blood red moon.

I wept aloud as their feathers shroud,

did cover me from this impending doom.

And with their songs of silver aloud,

I begged them not to depart my room,

But before they did, this they did say,

In whispers silent tune…

“Pray for peace, pray this day”…

for soon…He is coming soon.

Coming soon…oh coming soon.

And with a swoosh…they,

The whispering angels left my room.

J. Allen Wilson © 2004