Hope is the thing with feathers by Emily Dickinson

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.

About Alysson

Alysson of the House Meh, the First of her name, the Writer, Queen of the Ornery and the Rabble Rousers, Cracker of Wise, Slinger of Snark, and Breaker of Egos.

If you like what you see here, you can help me make a living doing it by throwing a few bucks my way via PayPal, Venmo or Zelle (alysson@alyssonfergison.com).