Angel Soul

More than a man and less than a God,
A fool by any name,
I traipse the dim lit streets of life
Discovering my shame.
I have the soul of an angel,
With the great wings of the air,
But my heart and bowel,
They still run foul
Of the manliness hid there.

I’ve every good intention,
To take the world by storm,
But my every good intention,
Turns out to be forlorn.
My foolishness turns in my lips,
To jewels of pregnant wit.
While in my efforts to be wise,
I make an ass of it.

Copyright ©2001 Tony Crisp