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.