Hope is fleeting, elusive
like the fireflies on a warm summer night.
Racing towards dusk, palms to the sky,
you stand, tippie-toed, ten feet tall
to wrap little fingers around light.
It's here, heart fluttering, you come down to earth,
A piece of the mystery is yours.
Close your hands tight, run home, little one,
eyes alive with wonder.
But when you sit down and look for the light
there's nothing but quiet and night,
and your small bit of life,
which you thought you held close
is for some other hand to catch.
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