They do not wear golden halo's
They are not dressed in spotless white
They do not bear feathered wings
They cannot float in a starlit night
They are far from perfect creatures
They have no powers in their might
The friends I see so saintly
Are not always completely right
So why do their eyes touch me
In ways that melt my heart?
And why does every word they say
Sound like musical, magical art?
Why do I call them my angels?
How do they heal every wound in sight?
And how does every smile they reveal
Send such pure rays of light?