They are living, here, among us,
These fine celestial beings.
These children with Downes syndrome;
These angels without wings.
In the care of aging parents,
Or together in group homes,
These angels without wings possess
47 chromosomes.
You will recognize the gentleness
Of their kind, defective, hearts.
Yet you may discount their usefulness
In a world that values “smart”.
If you do so, at your peril,
Discount these gentle souls,
You will never learn that wisdom
Is what makes a person whole.
We’ve seen intelligence abused
And been victims of its lies.
Innocence has been refused
When unborn angels die.
At a distance they resemble us;
These angels without wings.
Yet they have an openness to Love,
That speaks of higher things.
Oct 3, 2020
Oct 3, 2020 at 9:13 AM UTC
They are living, here, among us,
These fine celestial beings.
These children with Downes syndrome;
These angels without wings.
In the care of aging parents,
Or together in group homes,
These angels without wings possess
47 chromosomes.
You will recognize the gentleness
Of their kind, defective, hearts.
Yet you may discount their usefulness
In a world that values “smart”.
If you do so, at your peril,
Discount these gentle souls,
You will never learn that wisdom
Is what makes a person whole.
We’ve seen intelligence abused
And been victims of its lies.
Innocence has been refused
When unborn angels die.
At a distance they resemble us;
These angels without wings.
Yet they have an openness to Love,
That speaks of higher things.
Request permission to use this poem