Like fire-flies, shooting stars, snow flakes
And faces on the moon,
They pass easily beneath
Thin veils of underworlds
So are often mistaken for fairy dust.
Sometimes they are left behind by reindeer and sleighs
Then blown in through open windows
Drawn especially to wind chimes and sleeping faces
Where if encouraged can ward off
All manner of ills.
They are angels\' wings
And beyond imagination
Every child\'s playthings.
And later they are brooding reminders
Which if ignored will hunch shoulders
And drag feet their way.
They wake us at night
Greet us wide-eyed, but leave us in a cold sweat
With trembling hands that forget how to touch.
They are restless demons
Impatient for release
And must be channelled, given purpose
Given hope
If not peace.