I’m really not much of a poetry fan…I don’t have anything against poetry, but I guess I generally feel like I’m missing something.
Still, every now and then, I stumble across something that touches me. This morning I found that someone had posted this Emily Dickinson poem. I like it, so here it is:
“Hope” is the Thing with Feathers
“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.