52 WEEKS::Emily Dickinson - SOLD

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

I have loved Emily Dickinson, and poetry in general, since reading her poetry in Mrs. Hicks' junior high school class.  When I learned of her extreme introversion and that she was considered eccentric by neighbors I felt as though I had a kindred spirit of sorts.  I was always fine around people I knew, but speaking in class or to someone I considered a stranger was mortifying.  And I hated the telephone...I'm still not a huge fan but I have come to learn not to be afraid of people because we all struggle...in fact, I love learning about people and their interests.  I often think how lovely it was that her poems had no titles and that her work already felt contemporary in 1800's.  It's sad to think that Emily lived such a short and fearful life (she was only 55 when she passed away) but I am ever so grateful that she has left behind her beautiful poetry.