Hope is a dangerous affair.
It lifts our chins up,
And can spur us on to brave deeds,
But it keeps our eyes fixed on faraway clouds,
Distracting us from our precious present.
The traveler who gapes at the distant peaks,
Does not see the lovely flowers alongside the road.
The present is a reliable constancy,
The only thing we can never lose,
The only thing whose value never changes.
On it let us insist,
Not on the rueful past,
Or on the uncertain future,
Else we will misspend our time,
The only thing we cannot buy today.
Let us not waste our time with vague and distant hopes,
Let us hope with moderation,
And make the present our concern,
And enjoy the small things more,
That is to say,
Let us wake a earlier every day,
And breathe a little deeper,
And taste more fruits and vegetables,
And love more our real or imaginary lovers,
And just before we take the glass of water to our lips,
Let us think of poor sun-baked desert travelers,
Or at least of all those suffering a toothache,
And let us drink with mannered thirst,
And then let out a mighty sigh of pleasure,
For we are alive,
At least for now…
What do you hope for?