Hope is a thing. . .

I’m pretty sure I ran over hope during my long, unnecessary car trip last night.

Just in case there is anything left to salvage, a little Emily Dickinson, subversive woman extraordinare:


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.


One response to “Hope is a thing. . .

  1. I love this poem. It reminds me of a post I wrote in November (linked in the “Website” box).

    Thank you for writing so candidly about your experience with Lyme. It’s such a comfort to know I’m not alone in this.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s