Friday, March 8, 2013


Hope is pushing through the ground
The way that the springtime crocus
Is beginning to come up in the yard
First a leaf, then a bud entering this world
Of half-winter, strange chills, and sweet breezes
I see the beauty, but feel the risk
That hope must run to breathe above soil
In surfacing, hope is introduced to
Cold, danger, sadness, and frost
Things that force the buds into closed withdrawal
And yet, sunrises and friendly birds
A warmth that enhances hope's essence
How can hope regret budding
When it thrives on sunlight found above?
Where is fear when hope knows
That her creator has made
Everything beautiful in its time?
{and hope does not put us to shame}