posted by soe 1:02 am
“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 in in the chillest land —
And on the strangest Sea —
Yet — never — in Extremity,
It asked a crumb — of me.~Emily Dickinson
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