Hope is an umbrella, fragile, thin, Paper-soft against the storm’s fierce din. Can it shield when the skies break apart, Or hold the weight of a weary heart?
Yet, in despair, you’ll clutch its frame, A twig, a thread, a fleeting flame. When all is lost, even the frail will do, A lifeline to grasp, to see you through.
But why not build while skies are clear, A shelter strong, for those held dear? So when storms rage, as storms will rise, There’s safety beneath your steady skies.
To have faith is both hope and fear, Two sides entwined, a bond held dear. The farmer sows, his heart at ease, Yet fears the drought, the blight, disease.
Hope fills his heart, it lifts his way, With wings that bear him day by day. The higher he soars, the harder he tries, Like medicine’s taste, bitter but wise.
In hope he labors, free from rest, His spirit’s aim, a soul possessed. For faith’s true strength, both fierce and kind, Lives where hope and fear entwine.
