Hope is in the hollow of your heart,
A place that's safe from everyday despair,
Part of you with which you'll never part,
Part of you that always will be there.
Years pass, your child becomes who she will be,
More herself, less the self you dreamed,
One who is more act, less potency,
Though still no less the gift that she first seemed.
How might you hope as much as years go by,
Even as time offers you less room,
Refusing to ignore the truth or lie
'Mid gardens still in leaf but past their bloom?
Sing of hope, that is with fortune born,
Desiring joy at night as much as morn,
Alive with dreams and wonder, just as when
You were a child, now no less than then.
Copyright by Nicholas Gordon. Free for personal or non-commercial use.