A Riddle

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What Is Her Name?

A riddle in the style of Sampson’s


She lives where she isn’t, she’s found when she’s lost.

Her presence a present, a gift beyond cost

Her hand’s on the plow, her seeds always yield

though she's never set a foot in the field


She isn’t a builder but sets cornerstones,

drafts up no drawings yet her plans are well known.  

Always nearby even when hard to find.  

She’s never lost, yet oft' left behind. 


Her name is a treasure, can’t lock it in vaults.

Though often it’s stolen, its thieves can’t be caught

Your burden she carries, too heavy to lift.

Though often exhausted, her strength is a gift. 


Often called “distant”, she’s always nearby

Often called “faint”, though hosts hear her cry.

She trods the same path but she leaves not a trace

You know when she’s there though she won’t show her face


Hope!   Often courted, she’s no pretty thing,

She’s no golden goddess to pray to, to bring

a crop or a coin or a favorable wind,

nor tells when's the last frost so planting begins.


Hope, she’s the wisdom to look for new ways

She sees through the thorns, to vistas, to praise,

Hope gladdens travelers who bring her along

finding their way, singing her song. 


Hope is Her Name.  



Steve Brown,  3/24/23

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