Hope is the thing with feathers.

Image via aliette

.

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)