‘Where there is love there is life.’ ~ Mahatma Gandhi
through the evening fog
I see her, at the far-end of the park
a little girl, another pale flower
standing by the winter flower-bed
her fingers soft, delicate
caressing the flowers –
her little hands,
I imagine, tender and red,
as I rub my time-worn hands together
to ward off the December chill
her name I know not - I call her Hope
one more look and she’s gone
leaving a pallid sky
aglow -
for another day
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