POEM: Hope – That Singular Bird

comes from high noon
And at night
From the sunlight skipping off the moon
slips through the concrete
Like a weed
Just being
A weed
grows on trees
Some falling as seeds
Most dropping as fertilizer
Only ready after a winter’s rest
Hope abides
As signaled by a singular bird
Returned from far off lands

This poem emanates from and for election day 2016, and sow far beyond.  Hope Trumps Despair PEACE BUTTONEverything that is done in the world is done by hope -- Martin Luther King, Jr. BUTTONHope has an effervescence and that may seem poorly suited to our hurried and harried lifestyles.  We are captivated more by high noon than moonlight.  We are prone to pound the pavement with our souls rather than to grow through, out that which inevitably cracks.  We are disposed to think that is just won big oak rather than little nuts holding their ground.  And while hope springs eternal, its foremost sign is commonly a singular bird bringing tidings from a strange and largely mysterious place, that know one, quiet understands.

Got Hope SPIRITUAL BUTTON

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