The Angels have not grown older.

I always see them over my shoulder;

gentle, yet piercing mighty eyes.

Always checking the road maps and signs.

 

I have grown much older;

my dreams like nets all thrown.

Some  I’ve known have wished me well;

a couple of them said “go to hell.”

 

Words, just words without caring.

Words, just words both wrong and right.

Still, I journey on toward His Holy Light.

Still, the Angels lie down beside me each night…

I journey on.