When I was two I feared the dark.
My mother said, ‘Matthew, Mark,
Luke and John will bless
the bed that you lie on. Angels, too,
will comfort you.’ I knew she lied.
Terrified, I lay and cried.

Now I’m ninety-seven, close
to Heaven. Or that other place.
But I dwell in Tandridge Heights
and flights of angels care for me.
They come to me from many lands,
from Poland and the Philippines,
Latvia, and China too.
Small and dark, tall and fair
they care for me with gentle hands.