Hope is a crushed stalk
Between clenched fingers.Hope is a bird’s wing
Broken by a stone.
Hope is a word in a tuneless ditty -
A word whispered with the wind,
A dream of forty acres and a mule,
A cabin of one’s own and a moment to rest,
A name and a place for one’s children
And children’s children at last. . .
Hope is a song in a weary throat.
- Pauli Murray
No comments:
Post a Comment