The angel was burning in the hot city air, The longing to take flight followed her everywhere, The hunger and yearning under her wings Persisted day and night in the city's quagmire of things. She took the boy one time the sun was down, He was carried to the court of the king with no crown, At dawn they were both human again And memories came to haunt, Hired hands of a dark force Spoke of an arrangement. The boy said: 'When can I see you, when, oh, when?' And she said: 'Only in the public park, or the place they sell the victory gin.' The angel is still burning in the hot city air, The longing to take flight still follows her everywhere. © Brian Ahern 2017