As i wait...

Not oft do i hear your soft and sullen woes
as you run aground and stride your bound
so often on your silky toes

Not ever, as i dither past your weeping thorny shore
have i crooned and flit, as a candle hath been lit
where your garland hung, festooned in days of yore

Neither here and neither bare
so untimely was your parture
so angelic was your hair

And so we know
as sure as air is breathed and saplings grow
i had waited high and low

So oft now enchanted, as i wrought my wretched slum
i look upon the age old con that wiled a plenty tearful grieving don
and wait for a fallen angel, back from god to come