Get Down Ye Angels
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 kling 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.
