“A bird that fears falling off a tree branch is ignorant of its gifts.” Matshona Dhilwayo
I Take Hope In That I closed my eyes and ran my hands along the top rail of the farm gate, its gnarled timber long massaged by many hands, washed smooth by decades of rain, opening up the ancient grain with striated streaks along its length, where moss and lichen breathe and tiny things hide beyond the eye, the smell of lanolin brings welcome memories, and though its nails and screws are looser now, a sag visible with scrape lines in the dirt, the gate is ever strong, standing firm, and I take hope in that. Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon All Rights Reserved ®️
parallax 
Nice one ☺️
Sent from my iPhone
>
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you Cheryl
LikeLike
They’re much more beautiful at that stage, I have always felt…
LikeLiked by 2 people
Yes, a weathered gate or anything expresses so much for me.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Totally. I wrote a sonnet on this subject ~ I’ll find it and send you the link.
LikeLiked by 2 people
O good, thank you 🙂
LikeLike
Here you go, bro:
LikeLiked by 1 person
Wonderful 🙂
LikeLike
☺️
LikeLiked by 1 person
I LOVE this poem of hope!
LikeLiked by 2 people
I see by the capitalisation that you strongly do, thank you so much Liz
LikeLiked by 1 person
You’re welcome, Paul.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Solid piece Paul worth a few reads.
LikeLiked by 2 people
High praise VJ, many thanks indeed.
LikeLiked by 1 person
My pleasure
LikeLiked by 1 person
Old and worn objects are often sculptural. Beautiful description of the farm gate, Paul. 🙂
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you so much Cheryl, sometimes I think I’m a bit like that gate 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Beautiful poem, Paul.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you very much Luanne, much appreciated.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Beautiful reflective poem
>
LikeLiked by 1 person
Glad you enjoyed it 🙂
LikeLike