Red-Headed

There are many things that can be taken
A myriad others that can be lost,
The detritus of life which we amass
And the substances making us human.

Money will always be ephemeral
As it promises to 'pay the bearer',
None of us will escape the grim reaper
Because life sprints towards our funeral.

The worst thing to lose of all is your hope!
Hope is a tall beacon burning brightly
High up on a hill in the distant haze;
It is a star that without, none could cope.