• Wispers on the wind,
    carry to you a sound,
    Like a song from the soul of an angel,
    As it goes on it seems a chorus of angels are singing,
    You look to the sky as the clouds rumble by,
    A drop of rain lands on your nose,
    You sit in a hallow of a tree to wait out the storm that should never be,
    A voice in the distance a creature of sort,
    He screames to the sky as lightning strikes him past your eye,
    When morning comes his body lie limp,
    His paws feel rough,
    His fur is warm,
    His scars are all-over,
    His claws so big when you touch them you flinch,
    As you close your eyes and burry your face in his side,
    The angels vioce is back again,
    Out of the woods come creatures of sort,
    They look like the one that died but but have no scars,
    They sing a song a melody that make your eyes close,
    You shed a tear and feel something move,
    With the opening of your eyes the creature slowly stands up,
    He towers so tall with strength in his amber eyes,
    You reach for his face and pet his snout,
    He looks over to you and licks your face,
    Soon he looks to the side and runs off,
    Folowed by the others,
    You left with memorys of an angel who nearly died.