The Gift of Hope

The way hope does,

When it wraps itself

Like welcomed sheaths

‘Round your sense, and

Lifts your breathing:

 

What was once dry,

What forgot it once lived,

Tastes the dew from

A thousand dropping leaves

And the sweetest comb.

 

No path is outlaid;

None ever needed be.

Reasons for the things

That came before or

Perhaps will happen soon:

 

These make no matter,

Not when hope does

The way hope does,

Like a pleasant dream:

Mystery impends…

 

Into that place naught ends.

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