Thursday.

One day before Friday.

Two days before freedom.

There is a keeper of Thursday,

His name is Castiel.

He is an Angel of the Lord,

Or at least he was,

Until he fell.

His wings,

So black,

They used to be white.

He lives on,

And he fights,

With his own kind of brawn.

He’s on our side,

The side of humankind.

He goes to war with hunters,

Their destinies entwined.

He may be invisible,

To angels of higher rank.

But we look to him with love,

And beside him we flank.

Angels turn their back,

And to his dismay,

They turn away from him,

That Angel of Thursday.

He caused them all,

To drop so very far.

It wasn’t his fault,

You know,

To make them fall like stars.

Castiel,

Dear Angel of Thursday,

You are special to us,

And that hunter with eyes so green.

We must profess,

You are made to be seen.