In a darkened room the angels hover
while a woman sleeps

And thunderous rain sends morse messages
to the heavens

while down the stairs a raging fire burns
warming cold souls

Twelve bells as the old clock marks the hour
not recognising day or night

Blossoms in the gardens fold their petals
fearing the dark

And all the while, gentle clouds of breath
escape those red lips

Oblivious, cocooned in starched sheets
on a bed of down

The woman rests before her last descent
Weeping angels watch

As the fire rages on