Is it hopeless to feel hope
in the light of dawn,
or when the moon hums
her gentle song?
In the ash-filled skies
do hopeful spirits fly,
or earth-bound are they buried
in sorrow unvariegated?
Tomorrow will hope soar–
that thing with feathers, evermore?
This quadrille is for dVerse. The prompt was any form of the word, “hope.”
Yesterday and today: Merril's historical musings 
Oh I do love how you incorporated that famous Dickinson feather in the end.. I think we can find hope if we have to.
Thank you so much, Björn. I think so, too.
Maybe it’s me and my mood today under the cloudy skies, but there is a kind of beautiful, sad, sweetness to your words today. Still, there is hope in them. ♥
Thank you, Robin. I think you expressed exactly how I was feeling. ❤
I hear the doubt in your hopefulness. I’m not an unconditional believer either. You put it in such a beautiful way, though.
Thank you very much, Jane. Yes, I’m generally such an optimist, but I have my moments. 😉
People who are permanently happy have a few screws loose.
Hahaha. Yes, you’re probably right. I’m definitely not permanently happy, just usually hopeful.
There’s a difference 🙂
🙂
I love your questions, and that ending line…..I have hope. Thank you.
Thank you so much, Grace!
Hopefully even in the fires there is hope flying somewhere.
Yes, or hopefully it will return before too long.
The cracks in the painting are a good juxtaposition to the words. It’s all so delicately balanced…(K)
Thank you, Kerfe. I thought that, too. 🙂
So beautiful. LOVE this:
“when the moon hums
her gentle song”
Rhyme serves you so well here.
Thank you so much! 🙂
A lovely touch of encouragement
Thank you, Derrick.
Bjorn beat me to it, but I too like your reference to the DIckinson’t line: “Hope is a thing with feathers that / That perches in the soul / And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all . . .
And enduring hope flies above the trembling elements. Thanks, Merril.
Thank you very much, Marian.
Yes, hopefully.
I read this as a prayer for my friends in Sonoma County.
I suppose it could be, Pam.
Stunning poem! May hope soar and then land in each of us. ❤️
Thank you so much, dear Rose!
There is a sense of hope when the sun comes up. I know it is not poetic but “Annie” and her “The sun will come up tomorrow, bet your bottom dollar,” came flooding into this place where I imagined the feeling might shift.
Thank you, Robin. I’m glad you found it hopeful.
Absolutely lovely
Thank you so much, Candice!
💓