My Angel

This angel is my life or I’d be dead
The river Styx may not be crossed in pairs
she holds my hand and fears my bloody head
has cuts beyond the surgeon’s good repairs
but hers is not the surgery to do
her task is simply holding back the man
from crossing into death as some men who
get struck by cars against their every plan
she doesn’t know my name, nor do I know
the angel has a name, but I will learn
when blood, and tears, and dangers cease to flow
my heart will seek the angel; she will turn
into a girl of beauty, I will cry
to touch her hand again, we both know why.

For Kristine

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