Starved angel
Crippled wings
Snared in freedom's strings

Heaven born
Luckless lady locked in Limbo's scorn

Tell me girl, do you hear the Rapture's triumphant horn?
Calling you to remove all your trifles and thorns

Golden essence
Pouring from the piercings in your gaunt gourd
Reversing the process of pruning
Glory fills you cheeks and fancy floats beneath your feet

Always perfect
No longer meek