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.
