Hope is often lost. It is subtle.
If life likens itself to a night sky,
Then it is doomed.
Wait... what are those Bright Specks?
Why is there an enlightened Moon
Prancing up there?
The answer, my friend, is quite bright.
These things, even when shaded by the dark,
Softly say with their Light 'we're here'.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem