The angel sits on top of the tree

Her eyes are bright. She’s watching me.

I love the way she looks at night

The way she glows when basked in light

I love the glitter in her hair

The way she clasps her hands in prayer

The way her wings fold in the wind

When she opens her heart, and lets me in

But then the darkness comes our way

And her bright black eyes fade into gray

And when the twinkling lights all have gone

I can’t see her, and it feels so wrong

And so I sit beneath the tree

And let my angel comforts me

Because I know that she is there

She will listen, and she will care

Even if some say that she’s not real

It doesn’t matter. I know what I feel.

She’s the product of ages, passed down with love

And I know that they’ll hear me in heaven above.

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