As it lay on the ground, whipped and beaten, bloody and broken,
In despair, it whimpered and wept.
'Tis a pathetic thing with deep, sad eyes that pleads for a merciful death.
Although its end would be a reprieve, it speaks not and it's life is kept.
But as one is lying torn and naked,
It's legs tremble as it valiantly stands in an effort to console.
The creature's name is Hope
And when it dies, also does our soul.