Hope

                      Hope

 

Spring seems . . . hesitant… this year.

      Slow.  Afraid.

      Like it doesn’t quite trust the

      sunshine  yet.

 

After all " the sunshine has been away

      a long time with only

      brief, cold appearances

      that did nothing to thaw the Winter. . .

      only made it seem even colder

      somehow when it left again.

 

But.

 

Spring is reaching its delicate tendril . . .

      ever. . . so. . . tentatively.

      Wanting to believe,

      aching to believe

      that Winter is really done for

      and that Summer really can follow.

 

During the long, cold, dark, bitter time,

      all she had was Hope. . .

 

Hope " that chaffing grain of something

      that keeps us moving when

      we really don’t want to "

      then producing a spectacular,

      priceless pearl

      from our pain. . .

 

-Jo-

April 26, 1989  6:45 p.m.

Rome, NY

Reviews

[Jo Zapata]

I will - as soon as I discover it!

[Mark]

I have read several lovely poems here, extolling the subtle virtues to be found in what most dismiss as the bleak monochromatic austerity of winter, but this is certainly among the best. I will try to find the others in my Library, and send them to you; be sure you have your Read Request button set to YES, okay?