Laying there in the brightest of suns,
I hear them urging me to sleep.
So I curl and rest,
Letting the warmth soothe me,
Letting the light in all the way.

As I drift, they tell me that
Sleeping this way,
I'll wake up to angels.

And so I rest,
But I cannot sleep.
And yet, I open my eyes
And notice immediately the flutter
of a brown bird in the sky.

As he disappears, I see that he was
But an index
Leading my eyes upwards,
To those above him in the sky.

And I know they are birds,
But I know they are the angels too.

White, twinkling angel birds,
Being sure to fly high enough that I
have just as much a reason to call them birds,
As I do to call them angels.

For are they not one in the same?
Occupying the hight bright sky like that,
I can distinguish no difference.