Deep beneath the forest growth
Lies the decayed remains of hope.
Broken dreams, shattered past,
No morsel of love to break the fast.
There its precious body lies,
Staring with vacant, glassy eyes.
And sure it seems the hope is lost,
As dead and cold as a winters frost.
But dig down deep through dirt and mould
For the hidden truth which is foretold.
For every coin has two sides;
From every death a new dawn arises.
And so that dead and broken hope
Feeds the new and sprouting growth,
Until one day more glorious there stands,
The truth of love. Of life. Of man.
Its branches spread towards the stars.
Each blight it cherishes, so no more mars.
And always it shelters from above,
With wondrous limbs of eternal love.