I found her upon a high hill.
A wind was flowing through
her flaxen hair.
In her eyes
the blue of the skies
congregated in dazzling beauty.

She said she was an angel
waiting to return to heaven.
Where she would be given
Glorious white wings.

And she would come back
And fly over mountains
Where the eagles lay.

It was a sad
yet beautiful untruth.
But she is my angel
The only one
Who can make
my lonely heart sing.