As rain is not for the dry days
So is Hope not for yesterdays.
Shall we seek a better past,
Swallow memories of full plates emptied fast?
Should we murmur of our present,
Like one given a desert with no oasis as a present?
No Moses, yet we live in Exodus
To whom shall we cry? Did we not curse
The shepherd and chose the hireling
Who leads us to wolves; Why wailing?
Our bald heads have had
An unfair share of knocks, hard
Of what use then is our nightingale
If his voice is not gay?
Hope is the seed we need to sow,
That light will shine tomorrow