Wanda Daugherty Poet Prose Poetry

The Day Hope Died

The Day Hope Died

We all arose and washed our faces.
The day Hope died.
There was no use to waste time on tears.
Now that Hope was gone.

We all dressed in our Sunday best;
When she passed on.
We went with painted smiles;
To view her remains.

The people told us how brave we were,
And patted our little tin heads.
While we folded our little plastic fingers,
And cried crocodile tears.

What else can you be but brave,
When Hope is gone?
What else can you do but run?
When both your legs are cut off.

For weeks she struggled;
Fighting as only Hope could.
For the precious right to live.
Then she was gone.

We all went down and took our places;
The day Hope died.
We ate our bread and drank our wine.
Not knowing we were dead men to,

Somebody sing a hymn for us;
And somebody please cry.
For there is really nothing we can do.
Since Hope has died.

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