Hope

A poem I love:

Hope as a "Little Bird"

"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)