Home Of Angels

Home of Angels
Beyond the spring, past the brook; well beyond a place called home, Angels play in a world of white where the snow is never cold. Back towards home yet still far away; the pass beyond the Glade, the flowers wither as pixies become sick, hope lives where the Angels dwell. Once again back on the path; stopping before the brook; where trees die beforethey can live and no one knows of gnomes,a world of Angels is unknown. Home at last! Breathing in smog, as oilburns while laying roads; a human child dreams of a place where Angel's play, A place so very far away from home.
Tarek Nassif
2006