It was nearing the midnight hour,
Where upon I met a flower;
She looked at me and saw something,
And it was to her home she did bring.

She listened to me spill my sins,
She tsked-tsked some but mostly grinned;
I only had the clothes on my back,
A street person, my soul was black.

I touched her decency with my plight,
Intrigued her, she called me her knight;
I was just looking for a bed,
You are a wounded thing, she said.

She took my clothes, and she washed them,
I was thinking I found a gem;
She wrapped me up with love and then,
She said some words, and then Amen.

I can help, my name is Angie,
The next day I wanted to flee;
That was my fortè and my style,
A hit-and-run man with a smile.

With her a year before I ran,
I left her a much better man;
I tried to find her yesterday,
Couldn't, but her memories stay.

©July 16, 2012 / Jerry Pat Bolton