Hope is an Uphill Task

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What struggle is harder than

The keeping up of hope,

When the snake that looms ahead

Is a snake and not a rope.


Anacondas are fearlessly

On chairs of state seated,

The hoi polloi are their feed,

By minion serpents feted.


From the land a seven-year old

Braves the brood with a wonder

Of  percipient oraton

That tears the dupe asunder.


Perhaps she is the goddess new

Come to liquidate

The unrelenting anacondas

Who slither over the state.


Perhaps the aged principles

Who suffer agony

Without demur or second thought

Pluck hope from infinity.


The world’s most puissant anaconda

Has indeed tasted dust;

May be hope is just the truth

We must uphold at any cost.

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