Even a night that will not bend

Must one day come to an end.

The clock may stall, the sky may seal,

But time is stubborn; light is real.

A wind waits for gold to climb,

A wound submits to patient time.

And hearts that thought they’d lost their breath

Can outlive a season’s death.

So hold the dark with open rope—

Dawn owes its rise to hidden hope.

And hope, though thin as thread or psalm,

Has carried more than faith or arm.