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.
Your poem of the day. 🙂
I’ll try and post another article today or tomorrow. I have one I’m dying to share with all of you.
God bless you all, my darling avidReaders 🙂