Cadre - John M Ford

"The stars do not see", the Archangel mused,

He was - not pedantic. Precise; correct.

Smelled of chalk dust, his voice perhaps amused

But not expressive; always circumspect.

I avoided making a flippant reply;

I expected not his visit, you know

Indeed I expected - naught much, once my

Last breath at last went to where things might go.

But now I sit, implausibly still here;

Though free of traitor flesh - for some small time

While my childhood gods smile, and pour me beer,

And welcome my words, both prose and rhyme.

"The stars do not see... but we always do,

So now you will have time to create anew."

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