Hope Springs Eternal

The days of life are far from gone
when hope is springing new.
The birds cheep songs your ears upon.
The flowers smile for you.

Though youth seems wasted on the young,
our strongest days be past.
It's wisdom's force that needs be sung
through writings that will last.

The gift of rain shows well enough
that loss precedes return.
The lakes and rivers lose their stuff
as sun their vapors burn,

But when the adverse clouds are full,
the belly drops its load,
Then thirsty plants will fluff as wool
in homes of their abode.

We work and write. We craft our thoughts,
then critic readers scoff.
We've sweat our blood and tears in knots,
while they pick nose and cough.

The novelists of A-List fame
have heard the dreaded "NO!"
But still they pounded on the frame,
'til honored they be so.

My pansies in the winter froze,
but now they brightly shine.
My writing in the darkness chose.
One day 'twill fall in line.

We practice 'til our fingers hurt
to write, to play, to throw.
Our names one day will others blurt
and beam that they us know.

The cats each nap in their sunbeam.
The dogs chase balls 'til can't.
The kindergarteners paint reams.
Their clothing gardens plant.

But youngest hearts have greatest hope,
unconscious of the face
Of critics, who would snatch and grope,
the gifts of youth erase.

Though strength of youth we may have none,
our hope is childlike heart.
We need return. Again, have fun
that hope may ever start.

This hope can spring eternal now
in spring and summer, too.
Our hope will oft in winter bow,
when autumn's color's through.


12 verses
48 lines
282 words

by Jay O'Toole
on April 2nd, 2018