de l'encre au bout des doigts

Hopelessness  
 

Hope is a thing there's less and less of

As the rude world falls apart

But a blue tit built a nest to sing

It was Spring in his birdy heart

And the poet wrote another note

Of hope that springs in human breast *

Have I lost my humanity

Or am I just weary?

Weary like Rutebeuf,

Whose friends were few and scattered far

Maybe a bird would be hopeless if it hopped less

Should I change my step, some other thing?

My hair, my face, maybe my car,

Or, be like birdie and learn to sing? 

Noreen V 
 * “Hope springs eternal in the human breast” Alexander Pope

Noreen and I have been sharing our love for words for the past eleven years (we were teenagers then, obviously ;) ). It's been my privilege and honor to have read her and to have been read by her through the years. This poem comes from an assignment half jokingly given to her in the comments of this post, and she was kind enough not only to oblige but to also let me share it with you.

I hope you enjoyed it. 

Thanks Noreen! 

They were unexpected

These few drops there and there

That from one became ten

As the sun held its light

* * *

The water unannounced

Pounced, beat, sang

As we ran in vain

Under the sunny rain