An angel is no angel any more
When she begins to feel
As a blue wind is blowing
And knocking gently
At the door to her heart
With a sweet aeolian flute.
The sorrow then enters
With gossamer of longing
She feels but knows not
And the heart with the mist fills
Like the nascent rain descending.
The memories are betrayed,
She keeps her wings still;
Heaven is no home remembered,
The world is an abode to be lived,
Embracing hope for a new legend
When she wakes up from the dream
And shines brighter than ever.
A Cat in the Mirror 