“Hope,”
she said,
“is like an empty pail.
There exists the possibility
of a draught of fresh, cool water,
but unless I get up and fill the chalice
I am thirsty and the vessel remains vacuous.”

“Hmm,”
he replied,
“I hear what you say.
But for just an instant
consider hope the water
and the barren basin is me.”

Quick contemplation
and then,
with wrinkled mouth and brow,
“In your picture,”
she returned,
“who fills the void?”

“Ahh,”
said he,
with a showman’s pause,
“That, then, is the question.”

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