 Last night I had a dream. It had a tale to tell. I dreamed I saw an Angel; Poor thing, he wasn't feeling well.  His body bruised and battered His wings were ripped and torn This Angel could hardly walk, He looked to tired and worn. I walked right up to him to ask; Angel? How can this be? He turned around and paused a (bit), Then he spoke these words to me: "I'm Your Guardian Angel, A great task as you can see. You've run amok most all your life: Look what it's done to me. These bruises are from shielding You In times both dire and ill. Those alcoholic bouts and drugs you've used I've often paid the bill. You see my wings are ripped and torn; How often they have flown you From evils unaware. Each mark is it's own story of deadly wounds destroyed. You made me wish~more than once~ That I was unemployed. If only you could make it Standing on your own; Oh, don't you fret or worry but please try to remember I'm getting old and frail. I could not believe all I had heard, Let alone how much he cared. I wept upon his shoulder, Then left him in despair. The next day I sat and pondered: Should I really try? And in the distance I thought I heard; A Frail Old Angel Cry.  ~Author; Unknown     |
