By @abrokenpastor.

I crave the hope of the ice cream seller,
Driving his van around our neighbourhood.
Greensleeves boldly chiming out,
In the bleak midwinter.

I yearn for the hope of the commuter,
Running towards the bus, waving his arms,
As the bus begins to pull away from the stop,
The driver focussed on the road.

I want the hope of the chef,
Setting out the picnic blanket and parasol,
Lighting up the barbecue,
As the rain clouds gather.

I dream of the hope of the astronomer,
Carefully setting up her telescope,
For a once-in-a-lifetime celestial event,
On a cloudy night.

I ache for the hope of the children,
Taking their kites to fly in the park.
They run, grasping the string tightly,
On a calm, windless day.

I long for the hope of the seashell seller,
With her market stall set out on the beach,
Selling seashells beside the sea shore,
As children fill buckets for free.

I desire the hope of things as yet unseen,
Faith as the substance, firm and true,
Believing in promises yet to unfold,
A certainty to carry me through.

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✏️ @abrokenpastor

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💬 All views are those of the author, and copyright belongs to them. This has been presented as provided to thebrokenchurch.

📧 If you’re interested in sharing a little hope between 5th March and 17th April 2025, get in touch (abrokenpastor@gmail.com) with your contribution. It can be an article, blog post, artwork, poem, song, photo… there are no rules others than it be your original work and offers a little bit of hope.