Hope comes in and joy follows softly.
Hope is the one opening the door
to the house on the hill
with its lights shining.
Hope is the guide that goes looking
in the chill of twilight
for the last weary travelers on the road.
Hope is the lightness of body
when our loads are laid down
and we can stand again, breathing.
Hope is the fire and sustenance
to which our host beckons us,
the comfort of company.
And Hope is the change after sleep
when the new sun arrives,
lights the edge of the curtains.
Hope is the prelude to joy and peace,
the one who walks at our behind
sorting the welcoming party,
and who when we falter urges,
‘not long now to the next hill’.
And Hope, knowing the way,
tells Joy up ahead,
‘Don’t worry, we are catching up,
we’ll all soon be there’ –
to where Peace,
with her candle in the window,
has made up the beds.
Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry