The lover lost, the lover found.
Lost and found goes round and round.

The night is spent, the morning rises.
The silent eye sees no surprises.
Monotony knows but does not say.
It feels like just another day.

No one cares. No one dares
to say what’s on their mind.
Lose and find.
Lose and find.

An angel pokes among the trash
and sees here nothing that is rash.
Just foil and wrap and other scrap.
Disappointed not to be seen of men
she takes wing from earth again.

But someone knew and someone saw.
The woman riding the seesaw
of opposites saw the wing go by
and she said nothing, only sighed.

Jewels, jewels everywhere.
Some up here and some down there.
In-between the angel rides
on hearts as soft as butterflies.

Mercy, mercy takes to wing.
Gently touching everything.
Butterfly moment, angel prayer.
Butterfly feeling, butterfly air.

Vicki Woodyard