Such a small child, golden locks, pale face
gripping the hand of her guide.
Walking through darkened halls for the first time.
She slips away in the dead of night.
Never making a sound.
Into the church, lights a candle
And begins to pray.
Oh what a beautiful child she is-
As she weeps I feel her sadness
I wish to touch her
To hold her and never let her go.
She does not see me,
No one can see me.
So I become an angel- thinking it nothing,
a small gesture of kindness that is all.
But the child believed and still believes
That I am a voice from above.
Here I am again.
That little child is no longer small.
I am her angel, but really she is mine.
My angel of Music.