by Reed Hortie
Center camp seraph she wore white angel wings Also by this author: A Taste of Honey Nameless
Looking angelic, above mortal things
Seen from a distance the effect was ethereal
But closer up she was clearly material
For when the store clerk put the wings in a bag
He neglected removing the price bearing tag
Of course I knew she must be told
Since angels can't be bought and sold
On hearing the news my angel was crushed
Yet looked more angelic the deeper she blushed
I removed the offending tag as a favor
It's a moment I like to look back on and savor
But later on back at the camp
As stories were swapped round the Coleman lamp
Someone said something not very nice
Saying "Angels or not they all have their price"
Justice comes from the strangest places...
Eight lines of spitfire verse on one man's experience.
Center camp seraph she wore white angel wings
Also by this author:
A Taste of Honey