Angle in the Village
When snow was falling in the village,
An angel’s wondering on the street,
On her back she had no wings,
Deformity didn’t stop her journey.
She was white like the purest snow,
She laughed like a normal young girl.
On the way beside her bare feet,
The brier scratched her skin to bleed.
Blood had dropped on her way,
Pain was not in her conscience.
She walked nimbly and happily,
Her hair flow in the gentle breeze.
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