An Angel's Calling Poem by chris dawson

There she is, that moment born,
He’en sent from above.
Weak and helpless, needy too,
dependent on your love.

Wings form on that little one,
as only you can know,
the cherub transforms rapidly,
as mind, as body grow.

The one terrestrial angel,
she blossoms to a teen,
religiously you care for her,
the princess becomes queen.

Freely in her own realm now,
still obvious of need,
discarded wings and halo bent,
suckling the devil’s seed.