Hope is a Ghost

Her august leaf blushed first

among a sea of green.

 

Flitting about shrinking margins,

Hope craved seasonal embraces

that won’t come.

 

In her rosy bliss,

buffeted by autumn winds,

she was but the first to fall.

 

She’ll never know

her lover has moved on.

** *

Written for dVerse’s Quadrille #42, a poem of hope, hosted by De Jackson (Whimsy Gizmo). Other’s have contributed more hopeful poems here. Sadly, I’m pretty depressed, so it’s difficult to keep hope alive these days.