comfyquiet

“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.