Christmas Archangel

Small talk potluck smiles
Clench my jaws tight
Just like stage fright
An hour of social delight

In a less-traveled corner
My weathered friend
I finally gird myself
With long laces
Of furry boots

Where are you going?
You ask with sorrow
A three-year-old
Wingless
Christmas archangel
With unclouded eyes

I’m going home
Is all
I hear myself say
Wishing
I could stay and tell you
I don’t really know

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Music Well – Dosia McKay, Composer, Painter, Writer