Hope

'Hope is the thing with feathers' or 'Hope' is a wonderful Emily Dickinson poem comparing hope to a bird.
Here it is:

Hope

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

-Emily Dickinson

My own experience with hope has not quite followed Dickinson's pattern, and lead me to wonder.
So here is my take:
Note: This is the first draft, and I will be scratching my head over fixing the rhyming scheme, there is still work to do.

Hope

Hope is the thing with barbs

That flashes in the water,

And shines –glimmers gold

Always just ahead,

And luring when all is calm;

And never giving peace

That could relax the weathered soul

That’s seen such rough a sea.

But when the trap is sprung;

And I take the bait,

Then my fate is set,

And barbs don’t abate.

-Ankhwatcher

-Love ya kids.