Angel

If, In this world there is only room for finite beauty, How will we meet the call? Will we be lost, when it swirls, When it twirls, And when the moments of life, Before our eyes unfurl? Or, Will we take the hand, of the proudest prude, Repay her love with gratitude, Meet glowing eyes, With hearts that sing, And hold onto the souls, Of the moments that bring, Tears to the eyes of hearts colder than snow, And flight to wingless angels, Who walk below?