Tired Angels

He was a lucky man by his side angels walked
or perhaps flittered a little jostling as they all wanted to be near him.
Absentminded, he came near the fiord walked across.
He was out cashing ***** that clung to the sheer cliff wall, yes, and a plastic bucket.
He got five ***** and walked back the same way the angels sweated he had trusted
(unknowingly) their blind faith in him,
to the point when some of them were at a point of giving up.
Looking after this person is hard. One angle sighed; the others mumbled in tacit agreement.
The angels watched him boil the ***** and eat everything, not offering them anything;
how could he?
We should have let go, one angel said, let him splash about with his bucket.
The thought of this made every angle laugh; one took out a harp and beautiful music-filled sea and
land with everlasting peace and the satisfaction of a job well done,