Get Down Ye Angels

By John Agard

Get down ye angels from the heights.
Try a few of earth’s numinous delights:
the orgiastic rustling of the grass.
The wind’s brazen feather tickling your arse.

Exchange your robe even for a day
with the raiment of one made of clay.
Lay down your harp and dig these pipes I play.

I’ll put my lips to the weeping reeds
till temptation thrills the heart of every hill
and the very stones begin the dance of leaves
as if stones had gained a fluttering will.

Welcome ye cherubs to the carnal hubbub.
Take a break from heaven’s eternal monotone.
Inhabit the splendid risk of flesh and bone.

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