It’s a pretty thing I hear, this Hope.
I trust there’s some of it near
for all those folks who lost theirs.
We may not be able to see it,
but its cousin, Faith, tells us it’s there.
No, haven’t really felt it, and
I don’t smell it. I’m told it’s redolent
of vanilla puppies eating sugar cookies
on the laps of guardian angels
in ever-pressed robes of light.
And it’s coming…
That’s the rumor anyway.
I guess that’s Hope for you, though.
Usually late, always dressed to perfection,
but invisible, so it doesn’t matter
what it wears. Even if it’s
only waders and a smile.
Just so it eventually shows up.
Preferably with simple gifts.
Maybe more cookies. Anything’s okay
It is coming, right?