Hope

HOPE

Hope is soft and tender.

Rarely does she come with loud noises.

Hope whispers.

In the words of a song,

or the rays of the morning sun.

In the steam of coffee,

or the misty morning.

In a child’s laughter,

or the setting of the sun.

Hope breathes.

The lightest cool breeze on a hot afternoon.

The condensation of a cold glass of iced tea or lemonade.

A memory that brings a smile as well as a soft tear.

Hope waits.

She is . . .