March On

There will be days
when the tire blows
and the sky feels wet
and the baby is covered in milk

There will be days
when the money's gone
and the glass is broken
and the snow is a grayish thing

Hope is the feather still fine and soft
Floating out of the house fire
Hope is the line etched into your palm,
There since the day you were born
Hope is the star still in the sky
when day comes

March on.