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.
Thank you Bjorn for reminding me about this poem…..it is a good one to read at the start of another UK lockdown….
Thank you. I do enjoy Emily Dickinson’s poetry. All the best for this lockdown. We have narrowly escaped a third one – they found the latest case was caused by foreign fisherman shipped in to spell our own fishermen.
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You are very fortunate to be in New Zealand
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Thank you. Yes I am fortunate. We are not perfect by any means but we are doing better than many other countries.
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It’s a mess here, although thankfully, not as bad as the USA.
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Yes the USA is horrific, they are going to have many more deaths I fear. But you can probably salvage some of the mess in the UK.
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Fingers crossed.
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Best of luck with your latest lockdown. It’s a time we need poetry more than ever. Thank you for enriching our world with your verse and perspective.
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Thank you Bjorn. I’m now blushing……
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One of my favorite poems! Thanks for sharing it, Kim. Good timing, too — for so many reasons right now.
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We can but hope, as they say..
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Reblogged this on The Reluctant Poet.
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