| | See previous post (the cinquain not the widget) for context. "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, poem 314 (254)
Now you know what I stole it from. |
| | Posted 3/16/2009 10:21 PM - 34 Views - 2 eProps - 1 Comment
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