Horizon is magnificient, just not in this spring

Either I have gone completely bonkers or else it really is easy being a poet - it seems very easy to say things in double entendre in a poem, rather than an a long exposition. And writing such a poem (if it is that) takes just a few minutes, while writing out a post seems to take a couple of dozen minutes - at least.

So for what it is worth

For a while there, the Horizon seemed magnificient,
    In spite of all the compulsions which seemed significant;
But alas and afore, for the concerns of incipient,
    In altars there, were the common concerns so insignificant.

When those of us, who believe in 'Hope',
    Have to be so dicarded as of no scope;
What have we to do, inspite of all our gripe,
    Have else to do, but keep up our snipe.

For thus we hoped will this end this bond,
    Which has been forged not in hope fond;
Firth is what we 'Hope' would be bound,
    What we ended up as not so sound.

For us mere mortals, seems condemned so apt,
    As those who should give us 'Hope', so act.

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