Hope

Hope is the floss of thistle That floats by in the air Bearing its precious missile On wings of silken hair.

Hope is the blue egg lying In nest of straw and clay Which in a month is flying And singing all the day.

Hope is the plant Narcissus Beneath the winter's snow That when the Spring's sun kisses Will stir itself and grow.

Hope is the caterpillar Whose hammock swings on high That will come forth a miller Or gorgeous butterfly.

Hope is the sunshine breaking In on the rain cloud's storm And on the gray sky making The vivid rainbows form.

Hope is the new moon glowing Low in the western sky Which nightly will be growing Till Harvest Moon is high.