I listen
the singing
of angels
in the air.
Happy 
sometimes,
some times,
this one,
no.

"How many
hours
painful,
at night,
in the morning,
spent
waiting 
that one
flower
of sufference
stopped 
being
a liar,
returned 
and showed
truely
to be 
a dreamt
angel
of love"

This
can be
some times,
the singing
of angels,
this
can be
the pain
of true
love.