|Pandora trying to close the box, By F.S. Church (19th cenury)|
Save Hope from those who say she lies
that she’s a tramp with lovely eyes,
a siren guiding us to die
while we work hard just to survive.
But Hope would keep our staggered hearts
alive to pump the blood to parts
requiring drink and food and arts
to stir us up to nurse the earth.
And Hope is delicate, you know,
more like to tremble at harsh blows,
more like to hide from needy beaus
than break us on hard rocks in snow.
When we left Hope near dead, alone,
and loosed evil upon our home—
poor Hope, a lonely child, still groaned
to think we soon would be dethroned.
No, Hope’s no tramp, no lying thief.
Her eyes are wide with disbelief
we waited long to bring relief.
We drown ourselves upon the reef.
at Poets United
Copyright © 2015 S.L.Chast