A poem in short words?
Why not give it a try?
Why should I?
What do you want to say?
In truth, I don't know.
The sky is blue. There is no snow.
There should be snow.
A drought, you think?
This land is like a thing used up,
thin bare bones of trees
and not a cloud to be seen.
Not a one.
Well, take heart, the snow will come.
It's bound to, don't you think?
I don't know. The earth has changed.
Change can be good.
Not this change, I think.
Don't yield to grief, just think...
Of joy -- the joy that was,
The joy that is to come.
A star will blaze;
A child will be born.
Hope will be born. Hope can't help being born.
Hope should be white and moist
A slow melt down to the roots of plants;
This blue sky mocks, I think.
But, yes, I will hope -- for snow, for peace,
For the flow of streams,
for new green growth and the end of fear and want.
You know the myth?
Hope is what stayed in the box
When the bad things got out.
Yet, hope with no cause is a sad, doomed thing.
Hope is what it is.
It will not stay lost.
It is the first, faint light in the dark,
The last of the lights to go out.
It is the gaze that looks up,
Hope is what binds us to this world.
Then let's drink to hope.