A Box Of Faded Hope Poem by David Wood

The old wooden box
Decayed looking at the sun,
Its maple lid

Now faded.

Laying in the open heat of summer,
Or cold dark winter, unloved
Apart from the insects

They don't know of love.

Utterly exhausted, what
Once lived, hosted
Myriads of birds

In strong branches,
Distant memories
Now retired from life.

Waiting for the hot dry
Sun to finish its
Cremation.

For Hope, there was none
It had faded too.