They roll and turn with minds confused to understand their earthly charge Angels have no pain or joy from which to learn the art of comfort. They know so very little how a woman feels with wounded knee or poison word. About an earthly hand below her rib— once a pleasure, now a scar— about this feeling, only theories can they bring. And for the missing manly snuggles, they tout prescriptions learned, obeying Teacher’s word, then listen while she grumbles. All their efforts leave her sobbing beside him on the bed, bewildered, while their platitudes roll on. But once an angel felt it briefly— the way to reach his charge’s heart. He lay beside her sleeping soundly, and she knew he understood.