Hope

It came as quickly as October wind,
and just as quickly, it will leave. I’ve learned
it’s fruitless, chasing fleeting leaves, knowing
my love is just as light, as easily burned.
Still, she flutters on – perches onto souls
and sings them dreams. Some beg for my relief.
The world is dying under Winter’s cold,
yet somehow I’ve survived – woven my grief
into a blanket, warm for them. I cure
their wounds, then freeze when I’m abused. My love
has felt me wither in his arms before.
He wept, then wrapped me safely in a hug.
He waited like a tree that waits for spring –
showed me, a wounded bird, I can still sing.