*
"He sure was a very strange angel
The strangest that I'd ever seen
He seemed to know so much about me
How I felt, who I was, where I'd been
He didn't have blond curly hair
Or blue eyes, or shiny gold wings
Or a halo that shone in the moonlight
And all those celestial things
He knew how to bet on the horses
And they'd always romp home by a length
Whenever I found myself failing
I knew I could count on his strength
I miss his dry wit and his whistling
And the smell of his old woollen socks
I look at his picture through tear-swollen eyes
Standing next to his half-mended clocks
Roses were always his favourites
So I place a small spray with this poem
And I plead with the good Lord who took him
"Please won't you let me come home?"
*
