Lying on their backs, looking up at the sky,
The boys have made angels in the snow.
Eyes to heaven, with heaven looking down,
They wave their arms like wings, while seraphs
In the clouds bless them with their winged arms.
The shapes they leave behind are lovely.
But more wonderful still are the footprints
I saw on the blue hill at twilight.
A brief trail of delicate fairy shoes
Started out of nowhere in the field
And ended a stone’s-throw distant, maybe
Left by one who longed to feel the earth
Once more beneath his feet and touched down
Briefly before starlight called him home.