Hope springs up as a hardy tulip,
Colors of red and yellow and purple,
My vision is lousy with them-
My nose, filled with the scent of hope-
With the vibrations of new life;
And then, sinking low into the brown
Cold earth, down deep into the darkness,
My voice yet grows,
Flowing through the birth and rebirth
Of eternal hope, forever damned
To smell the freshness of what might be,
Lingering upon the soft edges of beauty,
Until the season turn again
To cut down my perennial blooms of thought
And magic… browning their edges with
Summer’s hot sun…