July 2001
Ten thousand angels are required to be with you.
They have orders that they can’t be reviewed.
Forget about their harps; forget about their cymbals and horns.
These precious ones have a job to keep since you were born.
A thousand are assigned to please you in the sky.
They pull at the clouds like tufts of cotton candy,
Pushing them high into the atmosphere stacked.
They’re made fluffy and white by their hands.
A legion or two are scheduled to mind your time.
Some are responsible for each of your years,
That separate and yet tie everything together.
Others are responsible for each of your days,
They manage the transitions, events and ways.
A quark of angels are assigned to protect you in bed,
Guard you from too much pain from joints that ache,
Though I make you from head to toe to sweat
They will never allow one of your precious limbs to break.
A score of angels, with the wish to be available,
Are at your command from the highest pinnacle,
Are on all of your sides and listen to your thoughts and whispers,
Attend to your sighs at the lowest vale,
Notice the movement of your eyes,
So you see the beauty of the world and its luster.
There is also your Guardian Angel that watches all about.
She is the one you never see yet can’t live without.
Her garments are designed by the Master.
She touches and lifts your spirits just past here,
Has the skill of never personal thinking,
Of never going to sleep, of relaxing or day dreaming,
Of never allowing time without the steady watch over you.
These daily reports I receive from her are about you.