There is silence in the streets;

The roads are empty. 

Rubbish flies across the pavement;

Small fires burn in the junk.

Everybody is indoors.

The fighting of the past week had taught them to hide.

The rebels had burst into the city,

Guns blazing.

While the people had hid, they rejoiced —
Finally! They could be free!

Now, the fighting had stopped;

The radios are all on for a announcement —

Are they free? Or have their saviors perished?

Finally, after hours of waiting,

A voices comes over the radio.

It says;
"The war has been won —

Our true government is back in place.
We will no longer be oppressed! —

We are free men!"

A cheer goes up amongst the people;

But then the voice sobers.

"The Angel is dead."

The Angel — dead!
How could it be?
The people's savior,

A martyr in her own right!


She is the child, of a world reborn!
An idealist in a world of lost hope!

And so ends the tale,

Of the girl-child,

Who saw the reins of power taken from its rightful master

And then one of those

Instrumental in returning it.

Who saw the harsh realities of life under a rule not their own;

But fought to give it back to those who would be born.

And now she watches the world she brought about

From a place in Heaven;

For now, truly, she is an

Angel.