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We Carry Hope
We carry hope
rope-dragged in sacks over cobbles
in silence, forwards.
Our parents gift their advice,
and push.
We creep along the narrow roads
that cut the heather into cells
of solitude, in search
for someone to peer into the bag
and appreciate our choice of filling,
our raggle-bag carefully and lovingly
considered, each item placed with
as much beauty as we could butterfly,
our courting dance.
We make that which is has no use,
so for what do we hope,
except heaven?
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