Emotional droughts
And bouts
Of tear-storms
Wash the sand
Like waves at high-tide.
But this time,
I have a boat
To traverse a
Moat
That I cry.

And in the winter
Of my life,
The dove called
"Hope"
Flashes its radiant ravishing, refined wings
Reluctantly.
And I know that
My spring is near
Because Hope is here.