Take on Guardian’s Virginia Woolf’s Angels 1919.
I am not
here to banish the
Angel of my house,
Neither it is
Simpering for it
is genuinely
A guardian, Golden
Angel thwarting inhibitions,
No whimpering, no
sign of slither, also
Assuaging bugging
fears, dispelling cold trauma:
Propelling my imaginations flying high.
As I
bend and write, the angelic notations
Would spread far
and wide, infusing a
Sense of
authenticity with a swish of wings
Of malleability
and dipped in
colourful
Inks of success
and calibre.
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