An ode to the angel on the non-fiction isle

Those golden dreads, a little dusty
That angelic posture, a little perturbed
The tribal on her feet, a little baffled
There coasting amidst the non-fiction isle
an angel from the west, I saw.

These in a jiffy, I construed,
and given a lifetime, I probably wouldn't be vexed,
but I didn't see her eyes,
but I didn't, see her eyes...

It's probably big, bright n blue,
with a twinkling star right at the brim,
yet somehow-
I knew they were used to flying high,
yet somehow-
I knew they are flying high, right now,
yet somehow-
I knew they'll fly high, always.