Hope is the hand with feathers

That I never thought I’d own

Cruising down the river’s stream

Hope was enamoured on the throne


Belief is the hat with feathers

I worship when I’m out

The hand of hope reaches up –

Feathers there, without a doubt


The hand of hope is a book of love

One needs to read without reproach

If only friendship’s faith had joined

The full, bright day’s antidote


And grace drew near divinity

And I couldn’t grin or bear

As mortality came closer

I knew how I would fair


‘Away you all,’ I shouted out

‘But you two, come with me.’

As I touched the hand with feathers

And strolled into the sea

Published by Owen Tilley