The Pub
Angels faces glowed hereonly yester eve
they sang and danced and weaved there spell
and all who fell here
knew it well.
Now the old ones enter in
like gnomes the huddle out of sight
wreathed in smoke till the last bell tones
then disapear to there tiny homes
and here stand I, a mortal man
niether angel nor yet gnome
but to which is my kindred?
whare is now my home?
my heart is with the angels but time is taking toll.
The years that warp my body
have yet to touch my soal
but experiance
has waighed me down
my wings no longer show.
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