The Slip of a Girl called Hope
They say she’s as old as the moon
despite her youthful mien.
I first made her acquaintance
on a bleak and cloudy day.
She’d popped up by my pillow
As I lay weeping, gripping its corners.
And the next day as the priest intoned,
She appeared in his songs of praise
She trails around me all day
dressed in a wisp of fine linen.
A shadow, she dodges my every step
this slip of a girl called Hope.
She’s forever in my focus
like a rainbow after a storm
even when love fails and the sun dims
she is on the horizon, re-assuring.
Disillusion accompanies her sometimes
A sombre cousin in grey fatigues
Who skulks with downcast eyes
Itching for a space in the corner of my heart
I sometimes can’t tell why
I long to grant her cousin’s wish
But each time the slip of a girl called Hope
Weathers through my boorish mood.