“Hope” is the thing with feathers “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. By Emily Dickinson
“I understood now why so many writers and artists, while in the thick of illness, became memoirists…”
A real friend…
‘Put your hand on your heart…’ A little Atticus poetry today!
“I was patient enough…”
@poetryofdhiman featured on the blog today!
Trees are poems…