Hope

I have always loved this poem by emily dickinson. She wrote the most incredible poetry, mostly because she could express so much in a few words, which took other poets of her time many hundreds of pages to eke out. She was gifted, certainly, and her poems are loved all over the world.

I have a few favourites of hers, like 'heart we will forget him, you and i tonight!' and also 'my mind is cleaved in two.' But i do love 'hope is the thing with feathers'. I do love the idea of hope having feathers that allow it to fly around, engaging and entering different people, charging them with their own winged hopes and dreams. i think thats lovely.

'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.'

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