Tears for someone else, spouting from my eyes,

Staining my own cheeks, every time she cries.

She thinks that she walks in the world alone,

Not hearing my foot-falls in her blind zone.

At night I hover over her still bed,

And see the scars that remain a blood red.

I hear the arguments down the hall,

And know that she's more torn than a rag-doll.

She has never realized that I am here,

She has no one else to comfort her fear.

But here I am, ever by her side,

Her guardian angel, and hopeful guide.

© N.C. Davidson, Diary of a Guardian Angel.