Hymn to Hope
The trees sit silent, waiting,
Stark against the rolling sky.
One cloud leaps forward, snarling--
Its feeding time is nigh.
The flag of dreams and hopes
Shivers at the sight.
It senses the dark presence
Of the approaching fight.
The breeze picks up fast,
Begins a quiet moan,
A prelude to the symphony
Of the encroaching storm.
The sun peeks through the blanket,
But very soon retreats
Behind the ready mountain
Of tall and earnest trees.
On the sky a lone hawk soars,
Searching with its razor eyes
But soon takes cover in the glen
With just one little sigh
At the heavens it can reach
That are slowly closing in
Around the naked, steadfast trees.
And then the clash begins!
The clouds let loose their volley
Of breakneck bullet tears.
The trees shiver against their sting,
But disregard their fears.
They have stood and watched
For hundreds of our years.
Nothing could bring them down,
Not even clouds of tears.
But the sky demands their reverence
And with one lightening bolt,
Strikes at the oldest of the wood,
He falls at that one stroke.
The forest shakes and wails
At this unthinkable pain.
The sky bellows triumphant;
Look what it has gained!
Content with all the damage,
It fades and passes away
Until Time calls to once again
Thrash to have its way.
The Moon peaks out to see the world,
And with gentle, caressing hands
Passes her glow over the trees
And helps to heal the land.
The stars come out, one by one
To play, but silent be
When Mother Moon so carefully
Attends the fallen tree.
The weight of her pale moonbeam
Presses on a seed.
It slowly tumbles to the ground,
Lands not on wood nor weed.
Yes! in the soil it shall grow.
Young and strong will it be,
With the help of the great Moon
To replace the aged, dead tree.
And this is how it is, they'll say
And this is how it'll be:
The new shall supersede the old
As with the two oak trees.
So never mourn for long, my child
When somebody is gone.
The moral of the story is
That hope goes on and on.
Back to Poetry
Back Home
