Hope is a tattered flag and a dream of time. <br />Hope is a heartspun word, the rainbow, the shadblow in white <br />The evening star inviolable over the coal mines, <br />The shimmer of northern lights across a bitter winter night, <br />The blue hills beyond the smoke of the steel works, <br />The birds who go on singing to their mates in peace, war, peace, <br />The ten-cent crocus bulb blooming in a used-car salesroom, <br />The horseshoe over the door, the luckpiece in the pocket, <br />The kiss and the comforting laugh and resolve— <br />Hope is an echo, hope ties itself yonder, yonder. <br />The spring grass showing itself where least expected, <br />The rolling fluff of white clouds on a changeable sky, <br />The broadcast of strings from Japan, bells from Moscow, <br />Of the voice of the prime minister of Sweden carried <br />Across the sea in behalf of a world family of nations <br />And children singing chorals of the Christ child <br />And Bach being broadcast from Bethlehem, Pennsylvania <br />And tall skyscrapers practically empty of tenants <br />And the hands of strong men groping for handholds <br />And the Salvation Army singing God loves us….<br /><br />Carl Sandburg<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/hope-is-a-tattered-flag/
