Hope

Is hope really a thing with feathers?

The little bird that sings,

Amidst gales and storms,

Humming strong to the weary warriors?

Emily, my dear Emily,

From all your death and dark,

You beckon the angel of life,

The beacon of mirth and let

The cherubin close around its light.

I adore this little bird,

Over the shadows of sorrow,

It delights in flying high,

High my eyes are set,

Let my home draw nigh.

You guide my will,

And will you let me fall,

Even then, I answer your call,

With a smile and sigh,

For you will always be

Up high in the sky