Hope struck her flint today

So I smothered her

before the old newsprint I'd saved as kindling caught fire.

I kicked myself for not disposing of it long ago,

but still, I stack the wood.

Because that's all it really is--

Old news.

Yesterday's headlines are a dime a dozen

And no one gives pennies for tired thoughts now,

Not even a dozen.

"Hope deferred makes the heart sick.

But longing fulfilled is the tree of life."

So cut yourself a sapling and

build a wooden box, Little Wish.

A casket that you can call home.