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.

Facebook Comments

Leave a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *