Hope

I found a beautiful poem by Emily Dickinson tonight which I couldn't stop reading over and over.

(continued from a previous post)

"Hope is a thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops  - at all - "

Emily led a sad life that was eventually extinguished by what I can imagine to be a slow and painful death from a disease. But her words here make me think of lonely days and nights wondering about delicious possibilities. Of hope and how it never dies. It will sing from the heart of a song that only you can hear.

"I've heard it in the chillest land -

And of the strangest sea -

Yet, never, in extremity -

It asked a crumb - of me."

E.D. 1861

I am finally listening to the song in my heart.