Hope

Sometimes the world seems
To be the wrong shape
Sometimes it’s shaded
In the wrong colours
Sometimes there seems
To be little hope about
Sometimes it’s like you’re wading
Through manure and dog ends

But remember…

The world like wet clay
Can always be reshaped
That snow and grey clouds
Are always followed by blue skies and sunshine
When Pandora opened the box
Hope was all that remained
And that all living things
Require compost in which to thrive