Hope

By Mike Hall, November 25, 2015

“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.

Emily Dickinson