When it seems all hope is faded, gone,
We must make up our minds to carry on,
As heart beats ever steady as a drum,
As doting doe spurs on her newborn fawn.
Hope’s a minstrel with a song for some
Whose ears can hear those gentle fingers strum.
No matter how mundane the morning dawn
The mystery of all is it has come.
Text: This is a collaboration with Jenna (Revived Writer) who wrote the first rubai in bold red as part of Jilly’s September Challenge — Casting Bricks. I have also linked this with dVerse Open Link Night. Grace is hosting.