In ancient tales, Pandora’s hand
Held not a box, found in the sand
Instead she found a jar of clay,
Sealed tight against the light of day.
Inside, the secrets of the world
Like dormant storms, lay tight and curled.
The gods had placed them, every care,
Each human woe was nestled there.
Curious heart, she turned the key,
The jar’s mouth opened silently,
And from its depths came every ill—
Despair, disease, and bitter will.
Yet in the jar, one thing remained,
When all the world was scarred and pained—
A flicker, small, yet shining far:
Hope, still waiting in the jar.
So now I tell of what she bore,
A jar of sorrows, yet much more—
For even in the darkest plight,
Hope lingers softly holding tight.
2024 ©️
The Royal Octopus 