"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 chilliest land--
And on the strangest sea--
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
~ Emily Dickinson
10/18/2013 07:00:36 am
That's because you are very special.
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