I knew a lad who thought that angels,

At night stood by his bed,

Who prayed each night for everyone,

Though I forget just what he said.

He saw the world as all at peace,

And thought all folk were friends,

He did not know that people lied,

And that most folk pretend.

Through all those childhood days he thought,

The world a perfect place,

That it was filled with love and peace,

 With a permanent smile upon its face.

But the lad grew up, and through his teens,

Found loneliness and pain,

As he struggled with great bitterness,

Lost faith and inner shame.

Self confidence was lacking

And his popularity had waned,

The world he had to live in,

Was not the one for which he’d trained.

He walked the highways of the land,

Seeking his illusive pot of gold,

But never did he find it,  

Now it’s too late and he’s growing old.

He still prays for friends and family

Before he wearies and goes to bed,

But the Angels that stood by him,

Both lie in the soil dead.

© 18 June 07 by Colin Jones