Jacob’s Angel

In the Mersey is an angel who is twisting to her beat.
Blown far off heaven’s dance floor, all his holy plans awry,
the angel arches, smiles and twisting, feels the sun beneath his feet.
Her jilted history knocked and settling into awful grim defeat,
the river lashes hard on northern shores to stick and stay.
In the Mersey is an angel who is twisting to her beat.
The Mersey’s bitter kiss holds men to anchor in the deep,
she calls them home but falsely with her widow’s waves of grey.
The angel arches, smiles and twisting, feels the sun beneath his feet.
So many ardent loves have lost their head to her entreat,
and lately found, they stiffly swim their honey’s moon away.
In the Mersey is an angel who is twisting to her beat.
As the angel dips his blessed arms, to caress her winter sweet,
she rains her blows and wraps her sturdy thighs about his waist;
the angel arches, smiles and twisting, feels the sun beneath his feet.
And still cursing broken promises, she leans into his weight
as Liver birds look discreetly on, to flit another day.
In the Mersey is an angel who is twisting to her beat;
the angel arches, smiles and twisting, feels the sun beneath his feet.