Frail Old Angel

Last night I had a dream
It had a tale to tell;
I dreamed I saw an angel ...
Poor thing, he wasn't feeling well.

His body bruised and battered,
His wings were ripped and torn;
This angel could hardly walk,
He looked so tired and worn.

I walked right up to him to ask,
"Angel, how can this be?"
He turned around and paused a bit,
Then he spoke these words to me:

"I'm your Guardian Angel,
A great task as you can see;
You've run amok most all your life,
Look what it has done to me."

"These bruises are from shielding you,
In times both dire and ill;
Those alcoholic bouts
and drugs you've used,
I've often paid the bill."

"You see my wings are ripped and torn.
How often they have flown you
From evils unaware;
Each mark is it's own story
Of deadly wounds destroyed."

"You made me wish ... more than once,
That I was unemployed;
If only you could make it,
Standing on your own."

"Oh, don't you fret or worry,
But please try to remember ...
I'm getting old and frail."

I could not believe all I had heard,
Let alone how much he cared;
I wept upon his shoulder,
Then left him in despair.

The next day I sat and pondered,
Should I really try?
And in †he distance
I thought I heard ...
A frail old Angel cry.

~ Ruth Carter-Bourdon ~