It's often said that hope is blind,
and fear is the willing force;
More tender than the grass of Spring,
our souls have felt remorse.

We've walked along these river banks,
perfecting just what to say;
And in the solemnest of words,
questions rise up day by day.

The cold and damp have given pause,
to stop the wayward thoughts;
Now our minds reflect a wanting of,
life's lessons to be taught.

It's a mystical world where we reside,
cherished poets speak of grace;
As stars dance through the Milky Way,
and snow falls down like lace.

Yet here on earth our problems seem,
much too difficult to discern;
The river's frozen hard as stone,
as we quiver, crash, and burn.

The answers lie among the clouds,
in natural elements of being;
There's solace in our beating hearts,
as we discover what's worth seeing.

A million folks have come and gone,
walking the river's narrow path;
When finally a mere glimpse of sky,
dissolves the enduring wrath.

Now hope that is no longer blind,
and faith beyond its measure;
Will ward off the destined downfall,
with answers which can be treasured.