Holding Perfect
Burns bright, burns fast, right? So let's burn. (A poetic blast from my distant past.)Perfect’s rare. I’ve seen it. I’ve held it in my arms. A vision; a dream; An angel.Mine was no ordinary angel: She had no wings, she did not glow with the glory of God and her singing was not much to speak of. In short, she was wonderful. My angel was young, as I, and came from rather closer than far impartial heaven. Her eyes (so very very deep) were wise beyond her years and mine. They taught me to laugh and cry (a tear...
