Echoes Of Hope Poem by DONALD SCHUSTER

Looking down from the tabletop of winter
The echoes of spring are but a poor whisper
of a hope that is too far away to touch

I long for the faintness of footsteps
To follow
Using only memory and sorrow

Comfort is knowing less
Each day
Leading to an absence

Forgetting the
The sorrow filled past
To witness the new sun

Of everything beyond
My probing window
Frugal of form

But rich from
Far away designs
of a shrinking light

What stands guard instead
Is the steady bright
Of eternal hunger

Knowing prayer
is not an escape
Its's a gift for us to behold


ES Donald