In the quiet of a poet’s mind,
Where whispers of the heart entwine,
There lies a hope, unyielding, kind,
A beacon in the darkest time.

“Hope” is the thing with feathers, pure,
That perches in the soul’s embrace,
Singing songs that softly endure,
Bringing light to shadowed space.

The storms may rage, the winds may howl,
Yet hope remains, a steadfast friend,
Through every trial, every scowl,
Its melody will never end.

So, let us cherish this small bird,
A symbol of eternal flight,
In every heart, let hope be heard,
Guiding us through darkest night.