Prince, Son of a King

I wonder where the angels are

who sang below a midnight star.

Somewhere in this eternity

those angels are singing to me.

Angels and ghosts are mysteries

who fade away like memories.

Am i, or will i ever be

an angel in a walnut tree?

I am not a mystery, but,

perhaps i am some kind of nut.

How did i ever get like this?

I was given an angel’s kiss.

And then, upon awakening

i heard Louise, my angel, sing.

Walt Abbott 9-13-2011