On hope

I found this poem the other night in a collection of bird poems called Bright Wings.  

Hope and Love
by Jane Hirshfield

All winter
the blue heron
slept among the horses.
I do not know 
the custom of herons,
do not know
if the solitary habit
is their way,
or if he listened for
some missing one--
not knowing even
that was what he did--
in the blowing
sounds in the dark.
I know that
hope is the hardest
love we carry.
He slept
with his long neck
folded, like a letter
put away.

The line that struck is the part about hope being the "hardest love we carry."  Where there is hoping there is love.  So much love.  And sometimes love and despair.  And will a situation change?  And will there be joy?

Hope is hard.  But I would be lonely without it.