The Old Seraph Poem by Jan Oskar Hansen

Seraph also

I didn't believe it was possible, mind I had been away for some time,
angles growing old?In the fair Faro, an old city in Algarve, Portugal she lived and used
to be as blond and pure as the ones one sees in racist fairy tale books where the
beautiful is blond; here where people are olive skinned and look Arabic- which make
them kinder than peoples who live up north-. When she floated through my town in the
afternoon, people lined streets in the hope that her smile would fall on them for luck,
alas, no more.
The grey-haired now wearing slippers is important, bunions give her
great pain, she looks inwards which is a good thing as no one
recognizes her anymore. Smiled at her, said halloo that woke her up,
she smiled back at me, yes, the same angle is still in there just harder
to see; thus I fortified her glow and did my newspaper round.