Upon some past and distant day
I thought I heard love’s music play
Saw Dante’s angels rise and fall
and Babel crumbling through it all.
Communication was breaking down
in country, continent and town
and whither did the angels fly
when tongues of fire passed us by?


Sweet mercy’s heralds on the wing
I thought I stopped to hear them sing
new colours gave they to us all
strange languages and ways withal.
I knew my brethren nevermore
nor what the diversity was for
Save to set one man against the next
and have mankind forever vexed....


Strange ways we walk, strange tales we weave
the more our children to deceive
perpetuating moral lies
through generations of poisoned eyes
who only see that black is white
on a lesser scale, with no grace or might;
that dark or different walks alone
and language is slingshot to be thrown.


and whither did the angels fly
when tongues of fire passed us by,
when divided waters joined again,
when came the end to Noah’s rain?
Can it be we are alone
so quick to cast judgmental stone,
so slow to see, in each other’s face,
the beating wings of love and grace?