Hope…

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Over time a heart can grow weary….when life brings so many challenges.

A heart can grow “cold”….

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but….

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Hope is a thing with feathers….

by Emily Dickinson

Hope is a thing with feathers

that perches in the soul

and sings a tune without words

and never stops at all.

And sweetest, in the gate, is heard

and sore must be the storm

that could abash the little bird

that keeps so many warm.

I’ve heard it in the chilliest land

and on the strangest sea.

Yet, never, in extremity

it ask a crumb of me.

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4 thoughts on “Hope…

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