Hope - Emily Dickinson

How about a little Emily Dickinson to ponder. Have you recently stopped to listen to the little feathered being that perches within your soul and sings unceasingly? Take the time, see what it is encouraging you to do!

Hope

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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