Hope is a seed laid in the ground,
A prayer for the lost until he’s found.
A yearning heart that waits at home,
A distant voice heard on the phone.
A melody in the dark of night,
A pale blue pledge of morning light.
A wisp of smoke before the flame,
A cloud that promises coming rain.
Dreams may fade,
And plans not last,
Hearts may grow weary,
But hope dies last.
(From The Butterfly and the Stone)