Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
Emily Dickinson
Photo by Alistair
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
Emily Dickinson
Photo by Alistair
2 comments:
Hari OM
oooohh cornflowers! Love 'em. And a wee bit o' hope goes a long way.
I note that the weather means these wee pets are in need of a lot of hope if they are to appear this year for summer! Travel safely if you're out and about. YAM
Ha.
Thanks Yamini. I'll try!
Post a Comment