Hope
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Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words,
And never stops at all,
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And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
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I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
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Emily Dickinson
7 comments:
So sweet Erin. Your spirit is reviving. How nice. I love the words you weave and may hope remain with us always.
Congratulations, you've been awarded the lovely blog award! I hope you will claim it.
one of my favorites - i always read it when i'm having a tough time. you picked the perfect shots to go with the poem.
so so so sweet!!
I love that poem! I'm happy to read it here. Let that bird keep singing in your heart.
I think they will make some money off me too sooner or later! I'm still kind of scared about not knowing where I put a book. Still in love with your pictures. Always so well put together and beautiful.
What a perfect poem to end the week. You're always so positive Erin, I love that about you!
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