“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.
Yesterday, while taking pictures at the picnic, I learned that hope comes from enjoying life, spending time with other people, giving time, sharing laughs and struggles.
Thank you to jakesprinter for another inspiring challenge. If you haven’t visited his blog, step on over; I think you’ll enjoy it.