Wednesday, June 07, 2017


Photo: Sunset over the Blue Ridge Mountains


Hope is a crushed stalk

Between clenched fingers

Hope is a bird's wing

Broken by a stone.

Hope is a word in a tuneless ditty--

A word whispered with the wind,

A dream of forty acres and a mule,

A cabin of one's own and a moment to rest,

A name and place for one's children

and children's children at last...

Hope is a song in a weary throat.

--Pauli Murray

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