In deepest slumber, she came to me,
in the darkest hour of the night.
She was not some dreadful seraphim,
but a picture of delight.

Her skin was fair like an Irish lass
with nary a blemish to be seen.
Her hair was golden, long and straight,
With deep blue eyes so wise and keen.

With the merest movement of her wings
She moved so gracefully through the air.
I knew she was an angel, then,
for truly she had quite the pair.

I was enraptured by her gaze
which drained from me my fear and pain.
The angel of death came closer now.
Was it my time? Would she speak my name?

She smiled her sweet angelic smile
and shook her head. I must remain.
I woke with a start to find my old familiar room;
Nothing and everything was the same.