A story about an angel

If you walk down Sandy Lane,
And cross the little stile.
You will find a hidden path,
It’s just about a mile.

Then if you walk half that far,
Jump o’er the trickling stream.
You will find a little girl,
Sad, and dressed in green.

Ask her why she’s sitting there,
Ask if she’s lost her way.
But she rarely ever speaks, you see,
Just sits there, day by day.

If she turns around to you,
Please do not be surprised,
By her bleeding, raw, red lips,
Or by her crying eyes.

She’s the angel of young girls,
Taken before their due.
Those souls who just weren’t strong enough,
Or lost, to me and you.

Now she gently holds their hands,
And walks them down the lane.
Shows them how to spread their wings,
And takes away their pain.

When you meet her, do not cry,
Or gasp or scream or weep.
For she will free them, one by one,
And gives them peaceful sleep.


Submitted: May 27, 2007

© Copyright 2022 Becky M. All rights reserved.

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