Some years ago, I wrote a Christmas Play. One of the parts was
taken by my good friend, Irene, who had a wonderful singing
voice, so that when she sang, there was breathless silence.
This is the poem I wrote about Irene and her Christmas carol.
WHEN IRENE SANG HER SOLO
Our choir is so good
Angels come down to listen to them.
Those angels think I can’t see them,
But I see them,
Dancing on the head of a pin,
Lolling on the piano,
Or perching poker-backed on the tops of chairs
Where people are already sat listening.
They are very fond of songs where angels appear
And especially liked it that time
When Irene sang her solo,
‘Angels from the realms of glory.’
The angels liked that so much
The tips of their wings were quivering.
But when our choir sings about the Lord,
Those angels join in.
They think I can’t hear them,
But I hear them.
‘O Lord my God,’ our choir sings,
And the angels singing with them kneel down,
Their wings all spread around the singers as they sing,
Together filling this whole place with such tenderness
I bow my head and cannot look at them again
Until the singing ends.
The angels have all gone home by then.
‘Gloria in excelsis Deo!’ AMEN.
© 2008 Gwen Grant