Angel in the Park
Angel perched on pillar high.
Arms out stretched.
Wings arc-vaulted to soar.
A voiceless trumpet
Grasped loosely in right.
Still cloth like garments
Wrap but face and chest.
And you stand
One foot lifted as if to fly...
...but you cannot.
And I ask you, fair Angel,
How does it feel
To be an image of beauty
Made only of steel?
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Email: solace1369@hotmail.com
