The gold and red angel

Atop our Christmas tree

Has toppled over,

A bright victim of gravity –

And now she is looking

Right at me.

I wonder what angels see

When they topple over and look at me?

Do they see the guy I wanted to be

Or the embodiment of some

Grimm fairytale you approach cautiously?

Who really knows what angels see

When they topple over and look at me?

Probably nothing at all

As they consider their new station

Lost in a pleasant,

Somewhat unheavenly reverie.