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A poem a day to the Millennium December 29, 1999
 

WHEN HOPE IS GONE, HOPE IS ALL THERE IS


insidious guilt
bucking horses, throwing riders
dislodging friends
covering all the bases
seeking everlasting power
creating damnation fears
with secret codes
devouring beings seeking human
the 4,000 year reign is ending
lightning bolts bend into boomerangs
and yin is the new drummer
music has fresh new ears
songs, new writers

this dance will not be a fox trot or square
nor circle, nor line, nor hoe-down
it will be all of these and more
all the flowers will come off the wall and dance
all feet will be bare and the sand will be damp
the grasses tall and green
mountain tops glistening with fresh white fallen snow
the air will be sweet meadow fresh
when the children dance

- Sam Hill


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