Miss Hope in danger, also knows
In sorrow, round about, night grows.
The wild, old winter wind, when blows,
And frozen trees are full with crows,
A thunderbolt is shaking snows.
Some pay for life a bitter fee;
Beyond the sky, they always see
The vault to which black birds will stir;
Some die for Hope; I live with her:
The heart if hurt, it sings for me.
Miss Hope, in danger, may agree
That poor human soul, so brightly,
Innocent becomes one day;
It takes no moments clean away,
Like seagulls waving open sea.
Copyright © Ovidiu Bocsa | Year Posted 2016