Hope.

HOPE

   In winter the crescent moon vanishes
   So quickly in the blue, down the horizon,
   Between the starry darkness and morning,

   Like the hull of a ship without rigging
   That I was meaning to load with wishes,
   O not for me, my dear, wishes for you,

   And you and you, my friends, all of us,
   Such cargo as could only ride upon
   The silver shell of that hallowed galleon.

   I daydreamed, got bewildered by my muse,
   Sun on the lace of frost, and fading Venus.
   I looked up, and the reckless moon had gone.

--DANIEL MARK EPSTEIN