While attending a funeral recently, I enjoyed thoughts of hope while at the same time offering tears toward they who find hope such a poor friend. That is a pity and must make for a miserable ending to life for they who say to hope: ‘shoo, go away.’
Even the mother doe will stand still for hours, hoping that her fawn will somehow someway reappear from the field of casualties left by the deer drive that bewildered her hope.
The soaring hawk with those excellent eyes scans below looking for his next lunch, hoping he will score.
The pitcher’s teammates are all on edge in the ninth inning, hoping their top ace will finish with a no-hitter. Sure they have faith their pitcher could do it……….they hope he does, but charity here is irrelevant, as hope is king.
The doe, the hawk, and the pitcher all express what men forget…
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