Saturday, March 06, 2010



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

1 comment:

Bill Widman said...

And some of us listen to the song, and try to make out the words, but it's just a melody we hear. We may not always get a specific message, but we keep listening. The tune matches our heartbeat, our breath, our pace, and before we know it, we are moving with it.

We never know where hope is going to lead us, but we know it keeps us alive, so we keep on listening.