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Poetry

These Three

These Three

 

Hope wore a grey jumper

Bobbled and torn

Stretched at the neck 

Nondescript,  even dull...

Pointing and whispering 

From deep within the Crowd.

 

Faith heard his quiet gesturing

Setting her astir

Tugging at the heart

Persisting, even urgent...

Beckoning towards a Path.

 

Love was hard waking

Quietly seeking refuge

Sickened by cynical flirts

Wary, even fleeing...

Hiding from graceless starts. 

 

But Now, 

Stirring to Hope's quiet gesturing

To trust this gathered mass.

 

Now,

Awakened by Faith's moving

To sooth fear-wearied eyes. 

 

Now,

Rising, this threesome...

Again, for this worthwhile walk

...this ready crowd 

Once stilled to "a sleep"

And Now,

No more!